


Broken Glass

by BAU_Bitch



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, Dom/sub Undertones, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Jealous Aaron Hotchner, Light BDSM, Mentions of Foyet, Mutual Pining, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Prentiss is protective, Protective Aaron Hotchner, Reader goes home, Spencer hates the ocean, Teasing, The team is adorable, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, like seriously one big family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:47:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 37,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26635345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BAU_Bitch/pseuds/BAU_Bitch
Summary: When Rossi brings you to the BAU for the first time in six months, you are pressured into rejoining the team. However, you didn't anticipate that after months away your feelings for the unit chief would remain. When the team is eventually called away on a case to your home town, things get messy. Will this be the start of a brand new adventure, or the dreaded conclusion to one you started long before?**Not abandoned just stressed with school :P**
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Reader, Aaron Hotchner/You
Comments: 47
Kudos: 214





	1. "Persuasion"

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, alerting you to yet another new message. You smile at the barista who hands you your coffee before heading to your regular table and sitting down. When you slip your phone out to see who the man of the hour is, you grimace at the name. 14 new messages from David Rossi.

Right as you go to open the messages app and see what your dad’s best friend could possibly want from you, the caller ID fills the screen, flashing and vibrating at a remarkable speed. You quickly take a swig from the coffee cup before swiping accept. Nobody ghosts Rossi. 

“Y/N,” he says as soon as you lift the receiver to your ear. 

“That’s my name,” you reply, setting your coffee down a little too harshly on the table. The steaming liquid sloshes out, burning you and staining your new shirt. “Shit!” 

“Spill your coffee?” Rossi asks, amusement seeping into his tone. 

“Damn profilers,” you mutter, dabbing at it with a napkin. 

“I didn’t know because I profiled you.” 

“What.” 

“Turn around.” At this, you crane your neck awkwardly to look out the little window of the shop. Rossi stands out front, one hand tucked casually into his pocket, a to-go coffee mug in the other. Your eyes widen in bewilderment before hanging up on him. 

You sit at the table for a moment, pondering what could possibly drag him from Quantico into DC, before he taps at his wrist indicating time was wasting. You sigh as you grab your purse and coffee mug, waving bye at the cute barista behind the counter. He winks at you. 

When you get outside, you instantly regret it. The November air bites at your skin, and the previously scalding coffee spot is now freezing cold. You clutch the coffee cup a little tighter, trying to seep some of its warmth into you. 

“Hello David,” you say, walking back in the direction of your apartment. 

“Well hello to you too,” he says. “Lovely weather we’re having.” You resist the urge to roll your eyes. 

“We both know you didn’t come here to ask me about the weather.” 

“No,” he says simply, as if you were stupid for stating the obvious. 

“Well then what do you want?” He sighs. 

“Am I not allowed to check in on my favorite niece?” 

“No. What do you want?” You don’t slow your pace when you take another sip of your drink. 

“Honestly?” He asks. 

“One hundred percent honestly.”

“We need your help with a case.” That makes you stop in your tracks. 

“No.” You don’t even ask what the case is about. Last time you had helped work a case, three children ended up dead. 

You never worked for the BAU, not officially. But your job as a pediatric therapist and volunteer for Youth and Family Services meant that occasionally you were able to tag along on a case and provide help. You were good at it, too. Until one time a bad decision on your part had led to the untimely death of three children, none of them older than the age of ten. After that, you walked away from the BAU, from the FBI entirely, and all of your connections. You hadn’t even heard from anyone until now. “Absolutely not,” you reiterate. 

“Y/N. What happened wasn’t your fault.” You scoff at his words. “You have a chance here to stop that from happening to more children. Please, Y/N, we’re desperate. JJ is losing it. Just come by the unit, take a glance at the report.” You’d be lying to say you didn’t at least consider it. Rossi knows it too, considering his job is the study of human behavior. “Even Strauss gave it the okay.” At that, you start walking again. 

“Wow. Strauss? You guys must really need someone like me.” 

“We do.” 

“Exactly. Someone like me. Not necessarily me. I have plenty of friends who would love to tag along with you instead.” But the abrasiveness is just an act. On the inside, a part of you wonders what it would be like to go back. 

“No. You work well with the team. You have a little field experience. I’ve been to the gun range with you and your father; you’re an excellent shot. Not to mention profiling suits you.” Rossi speaks quickly, and you can tell he’s getting impatient. You increase your pace. He stops. “Come or don’t come. It’s not up to me. But these kids need you. Their families need you. And the team would love to see you. Even Hotch.” At that, you finally stop. 

“Even Hotch?” Rossi smirks, knowing he’s got you. 

“Even Hotch. He told me so.”

And Jesus, common sense be damned, you can’t say no to Hotch. Which is probably how you find yourself riding shotgun in Rossi’s car, DC disappearing behind you as you make a last minute decision to head back to Quantico.


	2. "Doubt"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emily joins the mix

As you stand in the FBI parking garage for the first time in six months, several things become clear to you. The first: you are in no way prepared for this. Not in the way you’re dressed (I mean, come on, this was supposed to be your day off), not in the way your white sweater now sports a coffee stain, and especially not in the way of how hard this hits. It almost, almost feels like nothing has changed. But that’s a delusion. Everything has changed. 

The second: you have to face the team. Acting on a whim was something you did best; it was what landed your gig with the BAU in the first place. But coming to Quantico; this took the cake. You laugh at yourself in your head. All it took was one word, one name, and you dropped everything. Drove an hour from home, although with DC traffic it was more like two, with your Uncle who you had heard nothing from since you left. And for what? For Hotch. Which leads into the third realization. 

You have to face Hotch. Aaron Hotchner, the man you once had a killer crush on. One he knew about. You didn’t try to hide it, and he was a profiler, so you knew it would come out eventually. What you didn’t know was that he had similar feelings. And so an undercover case combined with a bottle of Rossi’s “top shelf” vodka led to a… well. Led to a great night. But it was just that. One night. Or at least Hotch seemed to think so. 

And thus the fourth point. You have to face your failures. Those dead kids, dead because of you. Because you let yourself get attached to a recently divorced man, get attached to one night. Let your heart get broken and cloud your judgement. But it had been six months. He probably didn’t even remember. You’d quit, ran away, cut off contact with everyone. Moved on. Both from Hotch and from those three young kids who had relied on you, needed you, and were in the ground because of it. 

Rossi nudges your arm, snapping you out of your reverie. You hadn’t even sensed his presence. 

“You’re dead,” he says simply. 

“What?” 

“If I were an unsub. You’d be dead. You didn’t even hear me get out of the car,” he raises a finger gun to the back of your head. You scoff at his antics. 

“Seriously Dave?” 

“If you’re coming on this case, Y/N, you have to get back into things. Be prepared.” 

“Coming on this case? No, no, no. That’s not what I agreed to. I said I would read over the case file. I never said anything about going with you guys,” you protest, leaning against the car door. You were absolutely not going on this case. Hotch could… could.. drop to his knees and beg you to… Hotch. On his knees. You lick your lips, enabling the image for a moment, until Rossi clears his throat. You blush and whip your head around to look at him. “No. No way. No case.” 

“It’s a free trip to Kansas.” You stifle a laugh. 

“All the more reason for me not to go.” Rossi frowns at you. “Kansas, Dave, really? New York, sure. California, sure. But Kansas?” 

“Kansas is a beautiful state!” He argues. 

“I didn’t say it wasn’t. But I’m not sacrificing my everything to fly with you guys down to corn land.” 

“We’ll see about that,” he smirks, beginning to walk away from you and towards the main entrance of the building. You open and close your mouth like a fish out of water for a second before jogging to catch up to him. You absolutely did not want to work this case...right? 

No. You didn’t. Working the case meant more forced interactions, meant more dead bodies. And since it was you they were differing to, adolescent dead bodies. It meant you packing up everything to fly down to Kansas for however long they needed, working ridiculous hours and draining yourself both physically and emotionally. It meant not only entering the bullpen but sitting in it, explaining to your friends, your family, why you walked out on them. 

But yet… didn’t you want to? You had missed the thrill of the chase, the satisfaction that came from concentrating until something clicked. The rumble of the jets while Morgan and Reid bickered relentlessly. Gossiping with JJ and Emily about your nonexistent love lives. You hadn’t told them that you slept with Hotch. You didn’t get the chance to. As soon as you had landed back in Quantico you had grabbed the meager items you had off the conference table and vanished. 

You make a deal with yourself to at least read over the report and give the team your professional opinion. From there you would decide if you wanted to be enlisted as an aid or not. However, as the entrance gets closer and your ride to DC gets farther, you start to question your decision. You really were doing this. What would you tell your dad? 

Your dad. You actually were willing to bet he put Rossi up to this. Gave Rossi the name of your coffee shop, of all the things you would need to be told to get you on his side. Snitched, said you weren’t happy with your day job anymore and needed something with more field work. You make a mental note to pay him a very well worded phone call when you return home. 

As soon as the FBI doors open, you are hit with overwhelming nostalgia. You clutch your bag just a little bit tighter but if it’s from nerves or excitement you can’t tell. Rossi avoids looking at you, but you know what he’s thinking. He’s got you exactly where he wants you. You follow him down the halls towards the elevator, since you need his clearance to go anywhere. You hope that maybe, in some small stroke of luck, the team will be out to lunch when you arrive. 

No such fortune occurs. In fact, as you’re stepping onto the elevator, a familiar voice calls after you, heels clicking rapidly against the tile floor. 

“Wait! Rossi! Hold the elevator!” Emily shouts, moving as close to a sprint as she can get in high heeled shoes. She has a bag of McDonalds in one hand and a stack of files in another. Rossi raises an eyebrow before leisurely extending his arm to barricade the elevator door and prevent it from closing. You step just off to the side, so she can’t see you from the halls of headquarters. 

“David, no,” you hiss at him, eyes narrowing when you see amusement flash across his features. 

“Why not?” 

“I don’t want to see them.” At that, the corner of his lips quirk up ever so slightly. 

“Then why are you here?” 

“Uncle Dave,” you scold, thinking that maybe playing the uncle card will get him on your side. 

“I was David just a minute ago. Your sudden change indicates-” 

“Don’t profile me. I thought the team has a rule not to profile one another.” 

“But as you made explicitly clear earlier, you aren’t and never will be part of this team.” When you have nothing to say, he withdraws his arm from the elevator doors. Emily slides in between them. She looks different; her hair is longer now, and she’s lost the bangs. Her suit is slightly disheveled, probably from booking it through a federal building, and her lipstick color has changed. The switch from a dark pink to a maroon signals a confidence boost. 

“Thanks, Rossi,” she begins, turning to face him and reaching over to push the button. “I just didn’t want to wait for the elevator.” 

“It’s no problem,” he says cooly, but instead of looking at her, he looks slightly over her shoulder at you. You know it’s his subtle way of pointing your presence out to her. It takes a moment, but you can tell the moment it clicks. Her eyes lock with his, then trace his line of sight all the way behind her to…

“Y/N!?” She cries, completely spinning around and nearly dropping her takeout. “Is that really you!? Sweet Jesus, look at you!” She cries, throwing her arms around your neck. You inhale shakily, gingerly wrapping your arms around her waist. 

“Hey, Em.” 

“What are you doing here?” She asks, pulling back. You don’t get a chance to answer, though, because the elevator dings indicating it’s arrival on their- your-floor. You take a quick step out of the elevator, ducking your head as you walk towards the large glass doors of the BAU. Emily pulls them open, holding them for you, and doubt, worse than before, courses through you. 

You have come here for Hotch. But now he stood a mere bullpen and set of stairs away from you and you think you may have a heart attack. Behind you, you hear Rossi snicker. And give you a little shove, right between the shoulder blades. You take a deep breath, mentally and physically bracing yourself, before stepping through the doors. 

It looks the same. There are rows of desks, and the bullpen sits in the middle. Hotch and Rossi’s offices are at the top of the small set of stairs near the conference room. You catch a brief glimpse of a sweater vested individual before promptly turning around and walking back out. Rossi and Em share a look as you stand in the hallway. Rossi shrugs and makes for his office. Emily turns around to talk to you.

“Hey,” she says softly, leaning against the wall. “You good?” 

“Fine,” you snap, rubbing at your temple. 

“You don’t seem fine,” she argues. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“Why?” You ask, opening your eyes. “Why the hell would you want to help me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” She looks confused. “I’m your friend. Friends help each other.” 

“Exactly. They help each other. They don’t disappear after a case and wipe themselves off the map completely.” 

“Y/N,” she starts. “We don’t-”

“Don’t!” You shout. Several heads turn in your direction. “Just don’t, Agent Prentiss.” You throw your hands up. “I should’ve never let Agent Rossi talk me into this shit. I knew it was a bad idea.” She pushes off the wall. 

“I disagree.” 

“Do you?” You snarl. 

“Y/N! What is wrong with you? You want to play that game, fine. Yes! You hurt me. A lot. And then as if leaving wasn’t enough you convinced Garcia to quite literally delete you from existence so none of us could find you again. You were my best friend, Y/N. After that case you couldn’t even look at me,” your features crumble. “But I forgave you. I gave you the benefit of the doubt. We all knew that you blamed yourself. So I gave you space to get over it.”

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

“Don’t thank me. It’s what friends do. But then you vanished! Your entire identity! You left Quantico. You quit volunteering. Now you work some dumbass therapy job in DC. This case that I presume you’re here to work, it’s a bad one. The local cops had been struggling with it for months before we got involved. But now we’re not enough. We need someone who is good with children.” 

“JJ and Hotch-” 

“Are not certified in adolescent psychology! JJ’s a mother of two- you think this is easy on her? And Hotch, Hotch has Jack. There’s a difference between having children and being able to analyze them on a critical level.” She sounds so resigned as she runs a hand through her hair, take out bag forgotten on the ground. “You can hate us. But don’t bail out because of us. We need your help.” You sigh and turn in a circle, pushing your hair behind your ears and crossing your arms. 

“Fine,” you huff. 

“Fine?”

“Fine. Yes. I’ll do what I told Rossi. I’ll go over the case file, give you guys my advice.” 

“And come to Kansas?” She prompts. 

“No. I’m going back to DC tonight.” She opens her mouth to argue some more. “This is hard enough for me, Em. I can’t become part of your family dynamic again. You guys work together so well.” 

“And you fit that too!” 

“No. I only hurt everyone around me,” you remember the look on Garcia’s face when you’d begged her to clear your contact information from the database. Hotch’s face when you had told him that you may be in love with him. Emily’s lack of an argument is all the confirmation you need. 

“Everyone makes mistakes,” she mutters in your ear. Then she grabs her bag of McDonald's, your discarded coffee cup off the floor and heads back towards the BAU. “Sometimes you have to decide if the pain of failure is worse than the satisfaction of success.” Then she’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wonder if the rest of the team will react like emily... especially a certain someone. Please leave a comment telling me what you think!


	3. "Conflicted"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment we've all been waiting for, please welcome... *drum roll* one very unhappy Aaron Hotchner

“Y/N!” JJ practically screams, running from the conference room. An FBI embossed manilla folder is clutched in one of her hands, but the papers from it are flying behind her as she surges towards you. You brace yourself as she gets closer, because her pace hasn’t slowed, and she collides into you, arms thrown around your waist. You both stumble back a few steps as you wrap your arms around her neck and squeeze. Despite everything, for this moment alone everything was worth it. JJ holds onto you tighter, as if her letting go meant you would leave. As far as she knows, that could be true. A surge of shame thrums through your veins. “Where have you been?” She whispers in your ear. “Garcia told us you had her clear your information? Why?”

“I needed a fresh start,” you say honestly. “After what happened in Colorado, I… I blamed myself. I couldn’t bear to face you guys.” Or Hotch. “Especially since I wasn’t even really on the team.” You can hear JJ sharply inhale. 

“We didn’t blame you, baby,” she says playing with your hair, still wrapped in her embrace. “There was nothing that could be done.” 

“Except there was,” you say, resting your chin on her shoulder. “If I had been better-”

“No,” JJ cuts you off. “We all go through this. Do you remember what it did to Gideon?” You nod. “Or Elle?” You nod again. “We figured you would need to step away. But going off the grid… Y/N, we would’ve helped you.” Tears prick at your eyes. 

“I know.” 

“So why did you do it?” 

“It wasn’t just that, Jayge.” Her grip loosens and she pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, waiting for you to continue. “Hotch and I, we…” She shakes her head, and it is then that you are aware of the rest of the team surrounding you. 

“Not now,” she whispers, and then she steps back. And all of the doubt from before comes surging back. You had figured her scream would attract the attention of everyone else, but that didn’t mean you were ready to face them. You step back, away from her too, and scan the room. The whole team stands in a circle around you. The whole team except for Hotch. 

Morgan shakes his head, and Spencer rocks on his heels. Garcia stands timidly next to Reid’s desk, unsure of what to say since she was the one who helped you get out. JJ has gone to stand next to Prentiss, and she grabs her hand. You can see the two have gotten even closer in your absence, and you can’t tell if that makes you happy or sad. Afterall, you guys used to be tight. 

Rossi is sitting on Emily’s desk like he owns it, which in a way he does, and his arms are crossed. A small smile plays on his lips though, and when you lock eyes with him, he winks. You fight the urge to flip him off. Morgan is the first to break the silent tension, everyone watching you as though you were a ghost. Or a wild dog that could take off at any moment, never to be seen again. You suppose you were both. 

“Hey momma,” he says, pulling you into a side hug. You hug him back, butterflies doing flips in your stomach. He pulls you close and whispers in your ear, “don’t be nervous.” When he steps back, he winks at you. Reid awkwardly approaches you and holds out his hand, and you grab it, but then yank him into a hug. He was always smarter than you, but you got on well as you understood each other. Plus, the two of you were the babies of the group. He awkwardly pats you on the back, then steps back. 

“Hi,” he mutters. 

“Hi Dr. Reid,” you say teasingly, and he smiles. 

“I knew you would come back,” he starts, pulling himself into his ‘I can tell you everything about anything’ stance. “When we talked to Garcia she admitted that you didn’t go the full mile. You didn’t do a name change. Meaning either you wanted to be found or you had doubts about leaving in the first place. I conducted an interview with Strauss after you left and she said she had been prepared to offer you a full time job, but you didn’t know that yet, did you? Which is why you took that therapy job in DC. You didn’t go that far away, just somewhere we wouldn’t look, and you certainly didn’t give up psychology. When I spoke with Hotch-” you hold up your hand. 

“I missed you, but I don’t need to be profiled, okay? I know why I left and I know why I did what I did with my life.” He blushes and steps back, rubbing the back of his neck. After a moment of hesitation, Garcia steps forward. 

It’s like a switch flips. As soon as she is within hugging range of you, she pulls you into a bone crushing hug and starts crying. You hug her back and close your eyes. “I’m so sorry,” you whisper into her ear, and she nods. When she releases you, she’s beaming. 

“I missed you so much honey,” she says. 

“I missed you too Pen.” She pulls you into another hug, and you hold her to you, until:

“Let’s not forget who you really love, baby girl,” Morgan teases, and she takes a huge step back. 

“Cheat on my chocolate thunder? Never.” You laugh at their banter. 

“Are you goin’ to be helpin’ us with this case babe?” Morgan asks you, crossing his arms. “We need it.” 

“That’s why I’m here,” you reply with a shrug. “I’m not staying though.” Garcia’s jaw drops and Reid tugs on his shirt. 

“Yes she is,” Rossi says matter-of-factly and everyone turns to him. “Even if she says she isn’t.” 

“How do you know that?” You ask him. 

“Because I know you.” 

“Bold of you to assume she won’t just leave again,” Prentiss mutters bitterly. 

“You’re one to talk, Em,” Reid snaps. 

“Look guys, I know I hurt you. And I’m sorry,” you start before a fight can break out. “I… I panicked. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t stop seeing those kids eyes, everywhere I went, judging me. Being angry with me, sad. I blamed myself for it and I couldn’t live with it. I didn’t want to be the reason it happened to anyone else, and seeing you everyday, it was such a painful reminder. Especially since I didn’t work for the BAU, not officially.” JJ nods. “And then Hotch and I had our falling out literally as soon as we were done going undercover, and I could see how much my mere existence was hurting him, so I left.” You don’t mention that you had fallen in love with him. “I know that doesn’t justify changing my address, my job, my phone number, my everything. I just needed a fresh start.” 

“At least Gideon left a note,” Reid mutters sadly, and you can feel yourself being ripped in half. You were overjoyed to be back, but part of you felt it would be much better if you just left. For everyone involved. 

“I’m sorry, Spencer. I really am.” He nods.

“It’s okay Y/N,” JJ says.

“We get it,” Emily adds on. Morgan and Garcia chorus their agreement. 

“Thank you,” you mutter, and you stand there, looking at each of them in turn. Until the slamming of an office door sends everyone scattering. Rossi rises, quickly coming to stand by your side as if you need protecting. You raise your eyes up, and there stands Hotch, looking down into the bullpen. You make eye contact, and his jaw hardens. He nods before coming down into the bullpen. The rest of the team tries to make it seem like they’re not eavesdropping on what’s about to happen, but you all know that they are. 

When Hotch stops in front of you, you swallow hard. He’s hotter than you remember, and the sight of him looking so commanding makes you want to drop to your knees. Rossi stands up a little straighter, and from the way they are staring each other down, it becomes clear that Hotch did not ask for your presence. 

“Dave?” He asks, gesturing to you. You wonder how he manages to keep his voice so calm and flat. 

“Aaron,” Rossi retaliates. 

“You need to confirm with your supervisor before introducing consultants to a case.” 

“I confirmed with Strauss,” he bites back. Hotch doesn’t react. 

“Why was I not informed?” 

“Because it doesn’t concern you.” 

“I’m the unit chief of this team. I didn’t ask for Dr. Y/L/N’s assistance.” The tension is thick, and even though you know it’s a horrible idea, you want to test where you stand with Hotch. 

“It’s actually Dr. Walker now,” you throw out the last name of your most recent ex. You can see Spencer peek his head over his papers to scan your hand for a wedding ring. You slip your hand into your back pockets so Hotch can’t tell if you have one or not. Hotch finally turns to look at you, and judging from the buzz you get that is irrelevant to the fear you can confirm that your feelings have not, in fact, changed after six months. Great. 

“Is it?” Hotch asks, scanning your face. You resist the urge to bite your cheek, which is one of your tells. 

“Aiden and I got married in August.” You see something unnameable flash in his eyes, his hand clenched into a slight fist, which is odd considering after the Colorado case he made it obvious he didn’t care for you in that way. To really sell the facade, you picture the happiest moment of your life and let your eyes glaze over, as if remembering the wedding. What he doesn’t know is you’re actually picturing his mouth on yours. 

“Congratulations,” he says curtly, accepting the lie, before turning back to Rossi. Your internal confliction roars. If you stay, you have to stay. With him. The man you still have a painfully obvious crush on despite being furious with. “She can stay for this case. Afterwards, she has to go.” 

“That won’t be a problem, sir,” you say bitterly. “I’m heading back to DC tonight.” 

“DC, huh? That’s where you ran off to?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Interesting choice.” You dig your nails into your palms. You are unsure why you are so angry, but it consumes you. 

“I would agree.” 

“What do you do?” He asks, fishing for information. 

“I’m a child psychologist and therapist.”

“Perfect for the case, then, since the main victims are children.” You swallow hard, images of the three children flashing before your eyes. 

“I assume that’s why Dave- Agent Rossi- invited me here.” 

“I assume so too,” Hotch agrees. “Do you have a gun?” A gun? 

“No sir.”

“Identification?” 

“I have my drivers license.” 

“Come with me, we’ll get you a temporary access pass.” You nod, and follow Hotch towards his office, sparing Rossi one last glance. He nods at you. As soon as you enter his office, he closes the door. “You’re not really married.” 

“What?”

“You’re not married. If you were, you would have a ring.” He seems irritated. 

“Maybe it’s just in my bag.” 

“No. Your use of past tense referring to the wedding as well as the use as the formal tone indicates it was fabricated. If you really were married to a Mr. Walker you would have said something more like ‘the wedding was in August.’” You sigh. 

“What does it matter?” He hesitates. 

“If you’re going to be a guest in this case I need to know you can be honest with me as well as the team.” 

“Bull. You were jealous.” 

“Jealous of what?”

“Aiden,” you state, leaning against his desk. Hotch stares at you like you’ve grown two heads. 

“If you’re going to be tossing about falsities-” 

“Just shut up Hotch,” you reply boredly, hopping off his desk. You cross the room and run a finger over the top of his degrees, then blow the dust off the pads of your finger tips. He watches you with interest. “You can pretend the case in May didn’t happen. You can pretend we didn’t have to go undercover together. You can even pretend that we didn’t do what we did. But don’t attack me for your decisions.” He is silent for a moment.

“I’m your boss.” 

“No,” you reply. “Dr. Walters is my boss. You weren’t, aren’t, and never will be, because I never worked for the BAU and I never will.” He swallows hard. 

“You are an aid in this case. You work under me as I am the supervisor for said case, thus making me your boss, temporarily or not. Do you understand me, doctor?” 

“I’m only here because your beloved Agent Rossi knows how to pull the right strings,” you say, walking past Hotch to the door to his office. You lightly brush your arm against his as you go. When you grasp the handle, you turn to look at him. “And like it or not, you’re one of them.” As you exit his office, your conflict dissolves. You’re going to work this case, and you’re going to do it to spite him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone is happy to see you... i wonder if you're really going to stay out of things


	4. "Wheels Up"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spite not be enough to get you on that flight

“Jessica Simmons, eight years old,” JJ says, passing out papers to everyone. “She was last seen at the park with her grandfather. She apparently vanished when he went to take a phone call from her mother.” 

“Do we know her parents marital status?” Hotch asks, brow furrowed in concentration while he studies the missing persons report. 

“Her mother was a widow,” JJ responds. “She and Jessica moved back in with her father after Mr. Simmons’s death. If you look, the same can be said for the parents of the other victims as well.” 

“You know, 77% of female victims die within the first three hours of the abduction.” Spencer states, and everyone turns to look at him. 

“Jessica was abducted eighteen hours ago,” JJ supplies. 

“What took so long to alert us?” Hotch questions, looking up at JJ. 

“The authorities weren’t even alerted to the kidnapping until two hours after it occured. I guess from there they had difficulties processing and submitting the federal request.” 

“But we were assigned to the case as of yesterday, we should’ve been notified immediately,” Hotch argues, dropping the file onto the conference room table. You flinch, but JJ remains steady. 

“That’s unfortunately out of my control, sir,” she says, crossing her arms. “If you have an issue I suggest you take it up with the local PD.” 

“Wheels up in twenty,” Hotch announces after a pause before standing up. You and he lock eyes across the table, and he shakes his head, so miniscule you barely pick up on it. Then he’s gone. The whole team turns to look at you, and you put down the victim reports. 

“Hotch doesn’t want me accompanying you guys to Kansas, which is unfortunate considering I was planning on going with you after our discussion,” you say, looking at Prentiss while you speak. She chuckles to herself just a bit, knowing exactly what you’re doing. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t give you my take on it before you leave.” Morgan frowns.

“Nuh uh. We need you in Kansas, babe.” 

“Not my call,” you reply with a shrug. 

“Let me talk to him,” Morgan says, also standing. 

“Good luck with that,” you laugh. 

“I’ll go with him,” JJ says. “Two is better than one.” 

“Me three,” Emily says with a grin. 

“Now guys, don’t flood Hotch’s office,” you laugh. Your plan is working. 

“I’ll go,” Rossi announces, looking at you. You can tell he knows exactly what you were doing from the mischievous glint in his eye. Morgan looks suspiciously at Rossi. 

“Should I come with you anyway?” He asks him. 

“No. I invited Y/N here, I should make sure she gets to accompany us to ‘corn land’ as she so nicely put it earlier.” Emily laughs, but Spencer frowns. 

“Actually, Iowa produces the most amount of corn annually, then Illinois. Kansas isn’t even among the top four states for corn production in the US.” Spencer’s random fact only makes Emily laugh harder. 

“There you go, Y/N. Guess you’re not getting a free trip to corn land anyway,” Rossi says. “Which is good since you didn’t even want to go.” You roll your eyes. 

“That was before Hotch didn’t want me to go,” you mutter, but you know Morgan heard because you see his face light up. 

“Slow down momma. Got some beef with the boss man?” 

“‘Beef’ is to put it nicely,” you say. Morgan raises an eyebrow and JJ giggles. Spencer just stares at you as though he could profile what your problem with Hotch is. You wouldn’t be surprised if he could, to be honest. 

“I’m going to go talk to him,” Rossi announces before exiting the conference room. As soon as he’s gone, Morgan pounces, leaning in. 

“Spill the tea,” he says. 

“Nope,” you reply, making a “my lips are sealed” motion. 

“Come on, Y/N,” he groans. You shake your head. “You’re no fun.” Hotch would disagree. 

“I’ve been told.” The team sits in an awkward yet comfortable silence. “So what’s been new with you guys?” 

“Henry is growing up so fast! He grew six inches since you last saw him,” JJ says, breaking the silence. Your jaw drops. 

“Wow, really?” 

“Yes! His hair is down to his shoulders now.” 

“That’s amazing, Jayge. How’s Will?” At that, she shrugs. 

“He’s alright too.” You can see she looks somewhat unhappy, but you decide not to push it. 

“Anyone else have anything interesting in their lives?” 

“You,” Prentiss says, throwing her feet up on the conference table. You pull your eyebrows together. 

“Me?” 

“Yes you, girlfriend.” She grabs her victim report off the table. 

“Why me?” Emily looks at you like you’re dense. 

“Are you thick? You were a ghost and now you’re here asking us about our children. Like Jesus, Y/N, that’s not normal.” Oh. You blush and tug on your jean loops. But when you look down you make eye contact with the coffee stain and sigh. 

“Be nice, Em,” JJ says, swatting her on the head with a file. Emily immediately pulls her legs off the table and leans forward. 

“Ow!” You feel slightly out of place, watching all of this go down. “I need to be nice? You just physically assaulted me!” At that moment, Rossi enters the conference room, Hotch hot on his heels. 

“Who physically assaulted who?” Rossi asks, crossing his arms. 

“JJ hit me!” Prentiss cries. 

“I did not,” JJ protests. 

“She totally did,” Spencer says with a small smile. “I saw it.” 

“Only because Emily was bullying Y/N.” Everyone turns to look at you, and you panic being the center of attention, even if it’s playful.

“Uh… she… I mean, yeah,” you finally say, and dammit if Hotch’s eyes don’t crinkle the smallest bit at the corners. 

“What did she say?” Rossi asks. 

“She called me thick,” you say, straightening yourself out and putting your hands on your hips. “Clearly I’m not thick since I’m here with the best minds in the FBI.” The last bit is directed directly at her, and you stick your tongue out. 

“Not to mention Doctor Y/L/N has a higher degree than you, Agent Prentiss,” JJ teases. Emily frowns. 

“I have a gun, woman, don’t test me.” At that, Hotch pipes up. 

“A government issued gun. That will not be used to assault another government official.” He looks serious, but you can hear it in his voice that he’s having fun. It makes your heart hurt just a little. 

“Technically, JJ, I’m not a government official,” you offer. “If you wanted me to take care of that for you.” You gesture to Emily, and Morgan smirks, propping himself against the wall. Emily looks terribly offended. 

“Y/N! You traitor.” 

“Yeah, actually, about that,” Hotch starts. “We’re wheels up in five so everyone get your things and get on the jet. Y/N, I need you to stay here. We need to discuss your position in all of this.” Everyone files out of the room, and JJ shoots you a sympathetic glance. Rossi hangs back. “You too, Dave,” Hotch orders. You swallow, but not from nervousness. 

“Why? She’s going to tell me everything that happens in this room anyway.” Hotch raises an eyebrow at you, as if asking about if Rossi knows about what you guys did on that case. You shake your head and he turns back to him. 

“Then let her tell you.” Rossi opens his mouth like he’s going to argue before changing his mind. He bows his head and exits the room, but not before he slyly winks at you. Damn profilers. Hotch turns to you. He stares at you, heat in his gaze, and you wither just a little. Your cheeks flush when you remember what those eyes looked like when they were inches away from you, hands tangled in your hair. 

“Hey,” you say, voice strong despite the weakness in your knees. “What’s up?” He frowns. 

“You can come on the case,” he says as if it greatly pained him to state. You smile just a little. 

“Cool. Thanks.” He nods. Something about his demeanor makes you hesitate. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine, doctor.” 

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Hotch…” 

“Y/N, drop it before I reconsider letting you on the case.” You flush again and nod once before leaving the conference room. Emily lunges at you from just outside the door. 

“Yay!” She squeals, wrapping you in another hug and squeezing so hard you think you might pop. 

“Were you… eavesdropping?” 

“I prefer to call it conveniently overhearing conversations that don’t involve me.” You sigh, grateful you didn’t mention anything incriminating. Like, you don’t know, that night in May. 

“I’m so happy you can come.” 

“Me too, Em, but I won’t make it if you keep squeezing so hard.” She immediately lets you go. 

“Oh my god sorry! But I totally was going to kill Hotch if he didn’t let you come.” Of course Hotch chooses this moment to emerge from his office. Master of timing. 

“One murderer on our hands is quite enough, Ms. Prentiss,” he says as he brushes past you. She rolls her eyes. 

“One murderer on our hands is quite enough,” she mocks. “Someone better tell him we deal with murderers for a living.” 

“I think he means within the bureau, Emily.” 

“Oh! Well in that case Elle already checked that box.” You gape at her. 

“Seriously?” You swat at her arm. You had started accompanying the team on cases mere months before Elle was shot. You and her hadn’t been close, per say, but you got along well. 

“It’s Agent Prentiss!” She calls after him, and he doesn’t even bother to turn around. 

“Wheels! Up!” He hollers, and while he sounds emotionless, you know him well enough to know he’s at least a little amused. You guys share a look. 

“You heard the man. We’re on thin ice as it is,” you say, grabbing Emily’s hand. 

“We? You mean you,” she laughs. 

“I don’t even want to know what Rossi said to him. He was adamant I couldn’t come.” 

“Come on,” Emily laughs, and you raise an eyebrow. “We both know you would’ve snuck on the jet in my go bag anyway.”

“Who says I need to sneak on?” You ask, and you both smile. 

“Nobody, apparently. I guess Rossi is a master at persuasion.” 

“Tell me about it.” And on that note you and Emily make your way to the jet, hand in hand, her clutching a go bag and you the case file, laughing your whole way through the FBI building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? opinions? what's gotten under Hotch's skin??


	5. "Profiling 101"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Airplanes, unprofessional-ism, and McDonald's

You touch down in Kansas in the evening, having spent the entire plane ride gossiping with JJ and Emily. At one point, Reid had taken Emily away for a round of chess, but he paid you back by sitting with you on the plane and joining your gossip circle for a while. The plane bounces upon landing, and you look out the window at the rolling fields as they rush closer and closer to you. When the rest of the team files off the plane, you stay back. Out of habit, Hotch does too. He always liked being the last one out, watching the team as if they were his children. He used to look at you that way too. Until he didn’t. He looks at you and raises an eyebrow, indicating that it was your turn to leave the plane. You rise, tugging your jeans up as you do. 

“You have a coffee stain on your blouse,” he points out as you walk past him. You pause, take a deep breath, and turn to face him. 

“And?” 

“It could set a bad impression with the local police. It holds an air of unprofessionalism.” His face is walled off, per the usual. 

“I’m sorry to hear that, Agent Hotchner. Luckily for you it won’t negatively reflect on your team since I’m not an agent.” You cock your hip. “I don’t even have a gun or badge.” You had never seen Hotch so close to rolling his eyes in your entire life. 

“The point is, YL//N-”

“Doctor Y/L/N,” you correct, cutting him off. He clenches his jaw. 

“The point is, doctor, that this is a professional case. Which means we need to maintain a professional conduct. That includes interpersonal relations and dress code.” Something in that sentence makes you stop. You take a second to find it, and when you do, you call him on it. 

“Interpersonal relations? Are you implying that my relationship with a member of your team is inappropriate?” You hold your head up just a little higher, baiting him. Daring him to make a comment. 

“Your relationship with Agent Prentiss,” he responds without a moment’s hesitation. 

“My relationship with Agent Prentiss?” 

“Yes.” He maintains eye contact with you, but you don’t miss it when his tongue quickly licks his lips. 

“I think you mean my relationship with you, Hotchner.” You know you’re skating on thin ice, but the look on his face is too priceless to miss. 

“What about your relationship with me?” He stands completely still, arms hanging by his sides. You quickly weigh your options. Your next move is ballsy, you know it is, but you have to try. 

“Rumor in the bullpen is you engaged in illicit affairs with a member of your team while undercover on a case.” You approach him, slowly, until you stand only inches apart. Butterflies swarm your stomach, and you have to ignore the slight heat. 

“What kind of affairs?” Hotch asks lowly, taking a half step towards you. You could cut the tension with a knife. 

“Sexual affairs,” you whisper, raking your nails down his chest. He shudders, eyes glazing over, and you blink a few times to clear the fog in your brain. You look up at him through your lashes and take your lower lip between your teeth. He swallows hard. 

“I can’t seem to recall,” he whispers, and now you’re so close you can feel his breath on your neck. You swallow hard, thinking this through. You still like him. He doesn’t like you; he lusts after you from afar. After that night he completely froze you out. You were left to die in the cold. So why now did you feel so warm? 

“That’s a shame,” you say, resting your hand lightly on his chest. “Because I do.” His muscles relax under your touch as you slide your hand up his chest and down his arm, back to his chest. Then you break the spell. “And I remember them being very unprofessional.” At that, you use his chest to push yourself away. Hotch stares at you before crossing his arms. 

“Y/N,” he warns. 

“What? I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.” You straighten your blouse, grabbing your purse off the seat of the plane. 

“We need to maintain a professional relationship both on and off the field. If you can’t respect that, I’m going to need to release you.” You clench your hand into a tight fist around your purse. His words didn’t hurt you. They didn’t scare you. But they angered you, that he thought he was in control here. 

“Release me? You already did, Hotch,” you laugh bitterly. “Yet somehow I’m back. And not by your doing, but by my Uncle David’s.” You purposefully refer to Rossi as “uncle” to get a rise out of Hotch. It works.

“That’s how you plan to succeed in life? By mooching off of your fathers’ success?”

“Not my fathers’ successes. My own. My relationship with my uncle is mine and mine alone. My degree is mine and mine alone. You don’t seem to recognize that. I’m just as smart as you are, Hotch. Maybe more so. I stand here today because the people around me decided to take a chance. On me. Because I proved that I was worth taking a chance on. It’s not my fault that you gave up your chance.” When you say that, you aren’t just referring to his cold shoulder. You’re referring to your relationship that died before it had even really begun. 

“Y/N, I couldn’t. We couldn’t.” He sounds desperate, his eyes pleading. 

“What happened to the professional Hotch? You didn’t even want me here right now.” Now you’re saying things designed to hurt. “The only reason I’m here is because of you! Don’t you see that? The reason I left was because of you. Strauss wanted me on the team! Officially!” You throw your hands up. “But you were so unprofessional I had no choice but to leave! And yet somehow, somehow I still find myself here.” You throw the strap of your purse over your shoulder. “One conversation with my uncle, one with the team, and I got on the plane with no questions asked. I don’t even have a go bag. All I have are the apparently unprofessional clothes on my back, which I wore on my day off might I add, and the contents of my purse. Plus this floozy temporary FBI ID. I don’t want to hear shit from you, Hotch.” When you say that, you realize with a start, you mean it. You might still be crushing on him but you’re not going to do jack about it. He doesn’t deserve it. 

“You will not take that tone of voice with me, Agent,” Hotch warns. 

“Agent?! Agent!?” His word choice sends you into even more of a frenzy. “I’m not an agent, Hotchner, and I never will be! Even though I came pretty damn close before, you stood in the way. You stand in the way again, but this time, there’s nothing I can do. Frankly, there’s nothing I want to do. You’re a goddamn fool if you think after all of that I even want to be in the same state as you.” 

“Then why are you here?” His volume has increased. No doubt by now one of the team members is wondering where you guys are. “If you hate me so much, why are you here?”

“Because I care for your team, and it appears they care for me. Because I have knowledge that will prove valuable to this case. Because I don’t know what the fuck Rossi said to you to get you to change your mind, but just know that I don’t care. Because what he said to me was enough. I was coming either way.” He stares at you for a second, eyes cold and angry. 

“Your language is incredibly improper and childish,” is all he says after a moment. You sigh loudly, raking a hand through your hair. 

“Yeah? Well so is your attitude.” You stand facing each other for a moment and then you scoff. “I really thought we could handle this like adults, Hotchner. I really did. I suppose that was my first mistake.” And with that, you storm off the plane. 

You climb into the backseat of the first black SUV, slamming the door behind you with a huff. It doesn’t take a team of behavioral analysts to know you just had a fight with Hotch. Yet for some reason, this doesn’t stop Morgan from asking. 

“What happened on the jet?” 

“Nothing. Just Hotch being an immature asshole.” You click your seatbelt into place, then survey the SUV so you can plan your answers and reactions accordingly. Morgan is sitting next to you. JJ is at the wheel, ever the maternal figure, with Rossi riding shotgun. Interesting group. That must leave Hotch in an SUV with Prentiss and Reid. He should have fun with that. 

“You sure? You seem pretty upset.” At that, you see JJ’s eyes flick up the rearview mirror and lock with yours. Rossi turns around in his seat. 

“Hotch was probably irritated I brought her on this case and pounced on the fact that they were alone to lash out,” Rossi suggests, and Morgan studies your face for any sort of confirmation of this information, purposeful or not. You have to refrain from chewing on the inside of your cheek, a nervous tell. 

“Yeah,” you say. “He basically said how unprofessional it was and that this would be my only case.” Not a complete lie. 

“What? But he used to be the one inviting you on cases all the time,” Morgan states the obvious. JJ finally pipes up. 

“Maybe when she quit he realized that he missed the opportunity for another great agent, so he’s keeping her at an arm's length as a way of dealing with that. Regret makes people do dumb things.” Rossi nods. 

“Seems likely.” The conversation tapers off as JJ pulls off the landing strip, and you’re grateful. The other SUV follows behind you. 

“How far is the hotel?” You ask her. 

“About fifteen minutes. They were almost completely booked, though, since there’s some sort of festival this weekend,” she warns. “And we have to head to the police station first thing tomorrow. I’m pretty sure there was even a rumor floating around that Hotch was going to go tonight.”

“Almost completely booked?” You ask, turning to Morgan in concern, and he just chuckles. 

“Yeah. They had three regular rooms and one suite left when I called,” JJ says. 

“That’s it!?”

“Well it is the weekend of a big event and I called to book as soon as Hotch declared wheels up. Honestly we’re lucky we even got one room.” She sounds so unbothered by it that you frown. When you guested on cases before you had to double up a few times, but usually it didn’t happen without a fight and a lot of complaining. 

“We’ve changed our ways,” Morgan says to you as if he had read your mind. He probably had, or at least your facial expressions. You had officially been profiled by Morgan, Rossi, Prentiss, and Hotch in the time span of seven hours. Hotch had been profiled by you, Prentiss, JJ, and most likely Rossi. So much for not profiling team members. 

“Dude,” you exclaim, swatting him on the shoulder. “I’m not an open book for you to read!” 

“Didn’t say you were,” he replies. “Trust me, you are not an easy person to profile anything out of.”

“Yes she is,” Rossi cuts in, not even bothering to turn to look at you. “How do you think I figured out exactly what to say to get her to come not only to Quantico but into the building and to Kansas?” Morgan clicks his tongue. 

“But she has years of experience and learning how to block people from getting a good read!” 

“And I have years of watching her strut around in diapers and announce herself the fairy princess of wonderland.” You flush, turning your head towards the window. 

“That is embarrassment,” Morgan says, pointing at you, at the same time you shout “Rossi!” 

“Technically, that gives you an unfair advantage as you learned about her as a person before she learned how to share only what she wants to share. So you can work with little current information by using past experiences,” JJ says. “Which doesn’t necessarily mean she’s easy to profile, only that you know her on a deeper level so it’s easier for you. Whereas Morgan has to rely more on current information that she is regulating.” 

“No. It’s just profiling 101,” Rossi shrugs, and Morgan sticks his tongue out. 

“What are you, five?” You ask him. 

“What did he do?” JJ shoots back. 

“He stuck his tongue out at Rossi.” JJ lets out a little laugh. 

“Really, Derek?”

“Seriously, Jennifer.” The car falls into a comfortable silence and you watch as the corn fields turn into a slightly more urban area. Residential neighborhoods begin to pop up, then gas stations, and all of a sudden it’s like you’re in a legitimate town. As you pass a McDonalds, the yellow “M” standing out against the pitch black sky, you point at it like a toddler. Morgan notices. 

“Now who’s acting like they’re five,” he teases. 

“Oh, shut up,” you reply. “I haven’t eaten anything today. I went out for my coffee around noon since I slept in considering it was my day off when Rossi interrupted. You know the story from there.” Morgan’s jaw drops. 

“That’s not okay, momma,” he says. “You’ve had nothing to eat?” 

“Nope,” Rossi says casually. “Here, JJ, turn around here.” 

“What? No!” You protest, although your stomach does kind of hurt from lack of substance. 

“The entrance is on that side,” Rossi says, pointing. “I’ll take a small fry.” JJ rolls her eyes but pulls into the McDonald’s drive through anyway. You watch the other SUV blow past you guys, presumably on the way to the hotel, and you get an incoming call from Emily not moments later. 

“Hello?” You answer. 

“Hey Y/N, sweet girl, love of my life,” she starts. 

“Cut to the chase,” you interrupt.  
“Hotch is refusing to get us McDonald’s too. He’s being kind of cranky.” The line goes silent for a second and you hear vague muffled voices before Emily comes back on. “Sorry, not cranky as he so politely corrected me. Just busy.” 

“And?”

“I need you to get me a quarter pounder with cheese, no onions and a medium fry with a coke.” You’re torn between laughing and sighing. 

“Seriously?”

“Please?” 

“Fine.” She makes a happy little noise on the other end. “Only because I feel bad,” you add accusingly. 

“What’s that?” You hear her ask. “Reid wants a ten piece chicken nugget. And uh,” she hesitates. “Hotch also wants a quarter pounder.” 

“Please tell Reid I’ll get him his chicken nuggets and please tell Hotch that getting fast food on the job, especially from a subordinate, is unprofessional.” You hang up before she can reply. 

“Damn Y/N, you’re being kind of petty. I like it,” Morgan comments, and you ignore him.

“Did you give Emily my number?” You ask Rossi. He nods. 

“You’re on the team now. They can have your contact information.” You don’t argue, only relay the orders to JJ, complete with your own. She pulls through the drive through, hands out the food, and then you guys are speeding towards the hotel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! sorry it took me a little while to update- i've had a lot going on. i hope to either implement an update schedule or at least start posting more frequently. once again, thanks for reading, and please leave comments and kudos!


	6. "The Last Word"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hotels and Hotch

You leap out of the SUV, two McDonald’s bags and a Happy Meal in hand. Morgan had decided that since you didn’t have a go bag to carry, you could take the food, and you weren’t complaining. You kick the door closed behind you, and JJ waggles her eyebrows. 

“What?” You ask. 

“You’ve got nice legs,” she compliments. 

“Why thank you.”

“They’d look even nicer in my bed,” Morgan flirts, and JJ chokes. You feel the heat rise on your face. 

“Teammates don’t fuck each other, Morgan,” JJ says, slamming the trunk of the car closed. Now it’s your turn to choke. Both pairs of eyes drift over to you. 

“Unless…?” JJ prompts, walking over to you. “You have something you wanna tell us, Y/N?” 

“No, she doesn’t,” Rossi answers for you. “She has something to share but she doesn’t want to share it.” Morgan laughs. 

“Ain’t that the truth.” He breaks into a jog to catch up to Rossi, black bag swinging by his side. JJ offers you her arm, and you loop yours through it, clutching tightly to the food. 

“Is there something you want to tell me?” She asks gently, making no move to walk towards the hotel. It’s dark out, and it’s cold, and you don’t want to have this conversation. 

“I can’t JJ. Not right now. I’m so sorry.” She stares you down. “It’s not what you think it is, I can tell you that much.” She nods and starts to walk towards the large front entrance. When you enter the hotel lobby, you’re practically tackled by Emily. 

“Y/N thank you so much! You are my second favorite person ever,” she practically screams. 

“Only second favorite?” You tease, unlinking your arm from JJ’s to hand her her burger. She immediately tears open the paper wrap. 

“Yeah,” she says after she takes a bite. “Chris Hemsworth is pretty hot.” You hum your agreement as your eyes drift around the lobby in search of Hotch. A cute yellow couch faces several blue armchairs and a TV, turned to the news, with Rossi watching it intently. A row of vending machines lines the wall, and you see Morgan, looking about three seconds away from kicking one. Reid is talking to the receptionist, probably with some statistics about hotels in Kansas, and JJ and Emily stand next to you. 

“Where’s Hotch?” You ask her. 

“Why?” She replies skeptically. JJ arches an eyebrow. 

“I want him to see everyone else enjoying their McDonald’s.” Emily snorts, and even JJ rolls her eyes good naturedly. 

“Oh my god, you should’ve seen him when he saw you guys pull into the drive through. It was like in those movies, his head turned in slow motion and stuff. Then I asked him if we could stop and he threatened to fire me.” She laughs. You smile too, the sight of the SUV speeding past you suddenly ten times more amusing. 

“I would’ve loved to see that.” Emily nods again. 

“Look at Morgan,” she points out, as he is now standing in front of the vending machine, arms crossed. 

“Oi! What are you doing?” You call to him, and he turns to face you, an irritated expression all over his face. Despite not wanting to come, you were fitting in so well with everyone. It was almost enough to make you smile again. 

“I want my dollar back!” He exclaims, turning back to the vending machine and lining his foot up with it as if he was about to give it a good kick. 

“Kicking it won’t do anything, except cost you more dollars to fix it like we learned last time,” JJ sighs. 

“Last time?” You inquire. 

“He tried to buy a pack of skittles and the machine didn’t work,” Emily starts. 

“So he kicked it until the thing broke,” JJ laughs. “Thank God Rossi is rich, ‘cause there is no way we could’ve paid to replace it ourselves.” 

“Why does he even need a snack? We just bought food,” you say. Emily points at you as if to say “good point.”

“Hey dipshit!” She hollers at him. “You just got food.” She raises her burger, and he jogs over. 

“Yeah, whatever.” He reaches into one of the bags in your hands. “Where are my fries?” 

“Other bag,” you reply boredly. “Hey boy genius! Get over here, we got you food.” Spencer’s face lights up and he waves to the receptionist on his way over. You almost feel bad for what’s about to happen. 

He gets to your little circle, and you hand him the happy meal. He quickly frowns, and you can see Morgan and JJ trying to bite their tongues. Emily looks delighted at Reid’s misfortune. 

“Morgan,” he says pointedly, staring right at Morgan. Morgan’s eyes flicker with amusement, betraying him. “Why?”

“Because it’s funny.” 

“Oh yeah, real funny. Did you know Hotch threatened to fire us when we asked if we could stop too? I don’t know what’s wrong with him. But that’s not the point. Emily almost lost her job and for what? A smiley box?” Reid sounds so offended you have to remind yourself to high five Morgan later. 

“I mean, it has a cute toy too,” you answer, voice tight with suppressed laughter. His frown turns to you. 

“It’s not funny! I am a grown man with three PhDs and you guys buy me a happy meal?!” You hear the bing of an elevator door closing at that moment and you turn to see Hotch leaning on the wall next to the elevators. He watches the scene with a mixture of fondness and sorrow. You smirk, another plan forming in your head. Quickly, you hand JJ her Big Mac out of the bag and also your burger. She tilts her head to the side, a silent question, and you ever so slightly tilt yours towards Hotch. Her eyes light up in recognition. 

“Good luck,” she whispers. Then you take the empty McDonald's bag over to Hotch. His face doesn’t change as you get closer. 

“Here,” you say, thrusting the bag at him. “We got you dinner,” you announce, and all five BAU heads turn to watch the upcoming scene unfold. He looks you up and down before taking the empty bag out your hands and crumpling it into a ball, never breaking eye contact. 

“Thanks so much,” he responds dryly. 

“It was very unprofessional of you to unnecessarily threaten two agent’s jobs and request your guest purchase you dinner,” you say, drawing yourself to your full height. 

“Was it now?” He asks, watching your lips. 

“Yes. It was.” 

“You know what else is unprofessional?” You stay silent, a cue for him to continue. He leans in close and lowers his voice so only you and he can hear. “Fucking your boss. But that didn’t stop you.” A thrill runs through you at his words. 

“It takes two to tango,” you whisper back. “Seems to me that your unprofessional tally is higher than mine.” Then you turn and walk back over to JJ, unwrapping your burger and taking a large bite of it, staring at Hotch the whole time. He glares. Your phone buzzes in your pocket after a moment, and when you pull it out to see what your new notification is, you bite the inside of your cheek. It’s an unknown number and all it says is “must you always have the last word?” It doesn’t take a genius to know it was from Hotch, and you save his number. 

“Always,” you mouth at him, then lick the salt from a fry off your finger suggestively. He swallows hard, then sighs and rolls his eyes, a little peace treaty between the two of you. Rossi watches the entire encounter curiously but says nothing. “Shall we?” You ask JJ, and she nods. You and her pile into an elevator, and the rest of the team follows. Spencer hands out room keys while you distribute food. 

“I get the suite,” Rossi declares, snatching the key from Reid. No one questions it. 

“I’ll stay with Reid,” Morgan says, already holding his fries but reaching for one of Reid’s. Spencer clutches his happy meal box to his chest protectively.

“Y/N and I will share a room,” JJ says, making grabby hands for her fries from you. 

“I’ll stay with them too, on the couch,” Emily replies. “You can have your own room, Hotch.” He nods. You almost feel bad for not getting him anything, but if he really wanted food, he would’ve stopped. When the elevator stops at the third floor, you all climb off. 

“Meet in the lobby at 7:30 tomorrow morning. Until then try to get some rest,” Hotch orders, and then he vanishes. Morgan and Reid follow, Rossi gets back on the elevator, and you and your girls head the other direction down the hall, excited to get some real alone time with them and then some rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter was a little shorter than the others! i really have to stop writing these at one am lmao. once again comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. thanks for reading!


	7. "Profiling 202"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleep, stations, and situations

You did not, in fact, get any rest, despite Hotch’s orders. You, Emily, and JJ had stayed up well past midnight eating McDonald’s (you later realized Emily had had McDonald’s twice in one day) and gossiping. At one point, JJ had begun discussing her pregnancy with Henry, and you unknowingly had grabbed your belly. You didn’t realize you had done it until Emily had taken your hand in hers, gently pulling it away. JJ didn’t even notice, she just happily continued on about morning sickness. You related more than she would ever know. Around three, Emily had declared herself exhausted and hopped off JJ’s bed, only to throw herself right onto yours. 

“Dude!? What the hell?” You asked her, walking over and pushing her feet to the opposite side of the bed. 

“Sharesies?” She had asked you, making puppy dog eyes, and of course you didn’t say no. “Ha!” She cried, crawling under your blankets. 

“What?” 

“JJ kicks,” she pouted, tugging them all over to herself. When you looked at JJ for confirmation, she only shrugged and rolled her eyes. Which is how you had ended up sharing a bed with Emily and getting no sleep because of it. 

At the station, you took up an almost permanent residence at the coffee pot. You stood facing it, watching the machine as if it would boil any faster with your presence. You had borrowed one of Prentiss’s low cut black shirts but were wearing your jeans from yesterday since you didn’t have a go bag. You become acutely aware of a presence next to you, and you turn, almost smacking into Hotch. He stares at you. 

“Good morning,” he says in greeting. 

“Morning,” you reply, running a hand through your hair. Hotch reaches in front of you to grab a styrofoam cup, and when his arm pulls back it brushes against your chest. You flush. He doesn’t notice. 

“Did you sleep okay? I see one of the girls lent you a top. Emily, most likely, given the color and brand.” You resist the eyes to roll your eyes. 

“Red tie,” you state plainly, glancing Hotch up and down. “A sign of power, dominance, and authority. You feel as though these officers don’t trust your ability to handle the case considering the late response, so you must assert your position as a federal agent rather than local police. That’s also why your badge is clipped onto your clothing rather than stashed away in a pocket or bag. You could also be using it to assert authority over me after our conversation yesterday, as if I don’t understand the mind.” He cocks an eyebrow. 

“Impressive.”

“Well,” you say, grabbing a cup of your own. “Strauss did almost hire me for a reason.” He looks disgruntled. 

“Try not to spill the coffee this time,” is all Hotch tells you before walking off. You scoff, your coffee now ready, and decide to also fix Spencer his since you feel bad about yesterday. When you reach the mock conference room, you pass it to him, and he smiles, mid sentence with a statistic about the unsub. You pull out a chair next to Morgan. 

“You look good in black,” he whispers in your ear once you take a seat. You lean over to him. 

“And you look good in blue,” you reply. You catch Hotch’s eye over the table and he looks mildly irritated that you and Morgan are flirting. Just to mess with him, you lean in closer to Morgan, and murmur “Does Reid ever shut up?” But Hotch needn’t know that you weren’t whispering spicy things. Morgan plays along.

“No, never. It can be so infuriating.” You giggle a little, swat Morgan on the knee, and pull away. The next time you look over at Hotch, he is focused intently on the case file. You would be lying if you said you didn’t think he looked at least a little hot, hair slightly mussed and brow furrowed in concentration. Which is honestly your cue to look into the case. You had to prove once again that you were worth keeping around. 

You aren’t prepared for the graphic images that greet you when you open the file. Six children and two of their mothers, all killed in different ways, except for the same signature. You bite the inside of your cheek as you read about each of them. 

“JJ was right; all of the mothers were widows,” you mutter to no one in particular. Emily hums in agreement. 

“That could be part of the victimology then; grieving children?” She suggests, and you look up. 

“Or the connection,” Morgan says, thumbing through the pages. “Perhaps a local priest or funeral home manager.” You glance back down and quickly rifle through the pages, pulling out the one you need. 

“Maybe the children aren’t the targets at all,” you say, waving the paper. It’s small, a photocopy of a letter the first mother had written to her husband shortly after his death as a way of closure. “Maybe the mothers are.” At this, all eyes turn to you. 

“Explain?” Rossi says, crossing his legs. 

“The mothers are already experiencing a great loss. Perhaps the unsub feels as though they’ve suffered enough, and need to start over. We could be looking at someone who lost a father in their youth, and became suicidal after the fact. Maybe they feel as though by killing the children they’re doing them a favor, so they don’t have to live through whatever it is they went through after their fathers’ death. I would even go so far as to guess that the unsub was too scared to take his own life, so he was taking others’, thinking he was saving his past self in some twisted sense.” 

“That’s a bit of a reach,” Hotch says at the same time Reid says “You could be on to something.” 

“At therapy, one of the exercises I have my clients do is called the butterfly hug. They essentially envision themselves giving their past self a hug when they really needed it. The unsub could be portraying a similar concept; projecting their past self onto these children.” You elaborate, then take a deep breath and a sip of your coffee. It takes like tap water, but caffeine is caffeine. 

“But then how are the mothers the target?” JJ asks, and you take a moment to organize your thoughts. 

“Revenge. By killing their children they’re also taking their last living bit of their missing husbands, one of the last things they had to live for. I’m willing to bet they’re projecting their mother onto these mothers the same way they’re projecting themselves onto the children.” You finish your speech with many impressed looks, and then Spencer picks up with psychology facts on how this could be likely. You zone out, instead skimming over the file once more. 

“How does this help us locate the unsub?” Morgan asks. 

“We can look for someone with a history of abuse, depression, a dead father,” JJ says without looking up. “I seriously think Y/N might be on to something.” 

“Call Garcia, have her look for the things JJ just listed in local civilians,” you say to Morgan.

“That still won’t be specific enough,” Rossi protests. 

“Doesn’t have to be. It still narrows the pool of suspects,” Hotch mutters. “Yeah, Morgan, go ahead and call Garcia.” He nods and exits the room. 

“Where did you learn to do that?” Reid asks excitedly. 

“Do what?” You reply, leaning back in your chair. 

“Figure out the psychological aspect just from the letter.” 

“Well if you took the time to read it, three things would become clear,” you start, grabbing the paper. “The first is that the child blames the mother for the father’s death. You can see this in the way the mother reflects upon the child with guilt and regret. The second is that the mother is demonstrating suicidal thoughts, mentioning how her child was all she had left and yet all she seemed to do was screw up.” Reid nods intently. “The third is that-”

“The unsub got their hands on it,” Spencer finishes for you. “They saw their own mother in this letter, and that’s their trigger.” You point at him. 

“Correct.”

“So how did you connect the dots about them projecting themselves onto the children?” 

"I didn’t,” you shrug. “I’ve just seen it way too many times in my own clients, and this unsub seemed to match the type. All of the evidence we have points to it. I could be way off the mark though.” 

“Brilliant,” the doctor mutters, snatching the letter and walking over to the white board to sketch his own ideas. When you turn your attention away, you see the rest of the team watching you. 

“What?” you ask, flushing. 

“Nothing,” Emily says, looking at her own paper which you now realize is her copy of the letter. She had been following along with you and Spencer. 

“I forgot how good you were,” JJ shrugs, and you slap a hand to your chest in mock offense. “I remembered you were good, of course, but not that good.” 

“I’ve gotten better in my time away,” you admit, purposefully avoiding looking just to JJ’s right at Hotch. “Quitting volunteering gave me more time to study the actual science behind it instead of just witnessing it in person, which is something I haven’t had the chance to do since college.” JJ nods. 

“You should teach me some time,” Emily pipes up, and JJ nods in agreement. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Rossi smirk. Then Morgan re-enters the room with a stack of papers. 

“42 people match what you described,” he says, dropping the papers in front of you. “We need a more specific profile.” Everyone turns to you expectantly.

“What?” You ask defensively, sipping again from your coffee. “I did my job. That bit is your job.” Hotch rises. 

“She’s right. Rossi, Reid, and Emily, you stay here and try to sketch up a profile and maybe re-analyze victimology. JJ and Morgan, you’ll go to talk to the remaining surviving mothers, see if they know anything that could help us. Y/N and I will go develop a geographical profile and check out the dump sites.” 

“Wouldn’t I be more useful with JJ and Morgan?” You ask. 

“Are you questioning my leadership?” 

“No sir, I just feel my skill set could be better used at a different location and task.” 

“And I feel that you need to see the dumpsite, maybe even the morgue,” Hotch says, crossing his arms. The teams heads whip back and forth with each remark, as though they were watching a tennis match. You sigh. 

“I thought we were over this.” 

“I’m sorry?”

“This! Your pettiness! And for what, Hotch? What the hell did I do to you?” You hear JJ gasp. Hotch narrows his eyes. 

“I am the leader of this team, and I feel that considering your experience with children as well as apparent knowledge of the unsub you are better off looking at the dumpsite.” His voice is like ice, and it pierces your skin. 

“No,” you say simply, and the team is so silent you could hear a pin drop. 

“Excuse me?” 

“I said no.” You cock a hip. 

“I’m your boss-” 

“No, Hotch, you’re not. And yet again, you never will be. You asked me here because you needed my help, and this is the only time you’re going to get it. So let me do what I feel I need to do to be successful, or send me home.” You and Hotch stare each other down, a battle of wills. 

“Fake confidence. Assertion over authority figures, most likely to compensate for a lack of power held in your childhood against a parent. Disregard for a general team dynamic indicates a restricted social life, limited, and an independent lifestyle.” You stand in stunned silence as Hotch has the balls to profile you in front of the team. You can’t tell if you want to tug him down by his tie and slap him or tug him down by his tie and kiss him. “Most likely a quiet kid, a phase which you outgrew when you realized you had something worth saying. Level headedness despite clashing heads with someone leads me to believe you are used to fighting with someone; either your equal or someone above you. An ex lover, perhaps? Screamed at you one too many times?” You clench your fists. Ex lover indeed. And you don’t just mean Hotch. Rossi steps forward as if he’s about to intervene, but you hold your hand up to stop him. 

“Let me stop you right there. I would profile you too, but unlike you, I have the decency not to, especially not in front of your team. I don’t give a fuck what you think of me or what you have to say”- a lie- “But don’t stop me from doing my job.” With that, you grab your purse and storm off, Emily hot on your heels, but not before she glares at Hotch. 

“You okay?” She asks you when you finally get outside. 

“Fine,” you reply, tugging on your purse strap. “He just crossed a line.”

“Profiling you in front of everyone? I would say so. The nerve he has sometimes-”

“It’s okay, Em, really. I’m okay. Not like I was going to stay anyway.” 

“You’re not?” She asks, and she genuinely seems upset. 

“No, babe. I’ll stay to finish the case but after that I’m out.” 

“Nothing I can do to make you change your mind?” She asks, and you shake your head. 

“If he found about-”

“But he didn’t.” Emily cuts off. “His profile was a wild guess.” 

“It struck a little too close to home for my liking,” is your only reply. Then you see JJ jogging towards you, and she tackles you in a hug. 

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Rossi is talking to him and Morgan is pissed. I don’t think Reid will be getting over this anytime soon either.” 

“I can handle myself, JJ, but thank you,” you say into her shoulder. 

“I know. Hotch gave you clearance so you’re going to be coming with me to visit the victim’s mothers.” You nod, and when the black SUV peels out of the police station parking lot with JJ at the wheel, you feel a twinge of regret for messing things up so badly with Hotch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! lots of dialogue in this one. sorry it took me a while to update; i haven't been feeling too good and i had a fever that only broke last night.


	8. “Cold Comfort”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversations, Calls, & Corpses

To say talking to the mother’s (the ones that were still alive, anyways) was hard would be an understatement. At one point, you had considered just waiting in the SUV for JJ to handle it. But then you couldn’t get what you came for: an accurate profile of the mothers’ behaviors. You leave the final home with a stack of notes in one arm and your purse in the other. Once you guys are in the SUV, JJ glances at you, clearly debating how to phrase her questions. You’re grateful that she at least had the decency to wait until after the interviews. 

“Are you okay?” She starts simple. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You ask, staring straight ahead out the windshield. 

“Ignoring the fact that this is a very difficult case? Hotch was kind of an asshole back there.” 

“No kidding,” you laugh dryly. “Yeah, Jayge, I’m fine. Regardless of what the bossman thinks, I’m actually a big girl who can hold her own.” At this, she glances at you. 

“I didn’t say you weren’t. Allowing things to have a mental and emotional toll on you doesn’t make you weak.” You frown. 

“I guess so.” You sit in silence for a moment before JJ asks another question. 

“What’s the deal between you two?” Now it’s your turn to look at her. 

“What do you mean?” You ask, dread beginning to pool in the bottom of your stomach. You worked with a team of profilers, so of course they would catch onto something at some point, but you didn’t have to be happy about it. And you certainly didn’t have to give up any information right off the bat. 

“Your dynamic is different. He seems very… closed off.” 

“He’s Hotch,” you scoff. “He’s always closed off. That’s his entire personality.” 

“Yeah,” she agrees. “But he’s a different kind of closed off with you. And maybe I wouldn’t be reading into it so much if it used to be like this, but it didn’t.”

“What do you mean?” You ask again, chewing on the inside of your cheek. You make a mental note to practice getting rid of that tic. JJ clears her throat. 

“Before you left, you guys were actually pretty close. Morgan, Em, and Penelope even had bets on when you two would get together.” You duck your head, thankful she has to put most of her focus into driving the car and not reading your body language. “But then that case in Colorado with the kids, that really messed you up. You and Hotch couldn’t even look each other in the eye. Then you left. At first I thought maybe you associated the failures with one another, but now I’m not sure.” JJ doesn’t push when you don’t respond, only reaches over to take your hand. “Whatever happened, I don’t want to know unless you want to tell me. It’s not my job nor my place to push. But if you want to talk I’m here for you.” You squeeze her hand, take a deep breath, and then start to explain. 

“You were right about the case in Colorado. It really did mess me up. I don’t think I need to tell you that though.” She shakes her head. “When we were undercover, Hotch and I, we did get together. But it was for one night.” You pause and watch the realization dawn in JJ’s eyes. “Rossi had given us some vodka as a ‘housewarming’ gift. We both had a few too many, and…” You trail off. She squeezes your hand in reassurance. “I wanted more. He didn’t. I thought maybe by leaving, I could get rid of my feelings for him and get rid of the crippling guilt of what happened to those children since I let him throw me off my game. But it didn’t work. It didn’t work, JJ, and I don’t know what to do, and he won’t give me a straight answer. One moment we’re flirting by the coffee machine and the next he’s profiling me in front of the team.” She nods, and you can see the gears turning in her brain. 

“What he did was wrong. I’m not saying it wasn’t. But maybe he feels the same way about you. One second you’re all sweet to him and the next you’re giving him empty McDonald’s bags and questioning his authority.” You take a moment to analyze what she’s saying. 

“So miscommunication?” You ask. 

“Maybe not entirely, but that’s definitely part of it.” You fall into a silence again. 

“Thanks,” you whisper. 

“For what?”

“Everything.” JJ shakes her head. 

“That’s what friends are for.” You guys are almost back to the station when her cellphone starts going off. “JJ,” she answers, not bothering to look at the caller ID. You watch her facial expression darken. “Are you sure?” She asks, her grip tightening on the wheel. “Send me the location.” Then she hangs up, tossing her phone into the cupholder.

“What is it?”

“Hotch and Morgan found another body.” You swallow hard.

“Child or mother?” 

“Child.” You have to take a deep breath to stop yourself from puking. “It’s recent, too.” Briefly, you wonder if that would’ve been you finding that child had you not stood up to Hotch. Some selfish part of you is thankful it was Morgan. 

“I’m so sorry,” you breathe, and she smiles at you even though you can tell it’s forced. 

“I had Morgan text me their location, can you pull it up for me?” She lazily gestures to her phone. 

“Sure thing,” you reply, grabbing the phone out of the cupholder. “What’s the password?”

“111208.” 

“Henry’s birthday,” you state. 

“Yeah.” You can tell she’s thinking about those mothers, seeing herself in their shoes. 

“You should call him,” you suggest, and she snaps her head to look at you, pupils blown wide. 

“Maybe.” You are met at the crime scene to two other SUVs and three cop cars. Hotch immediately breaks into a run to meet you guys. He debriefs you on your walk over to the police tape. 

“The local PD ID’d her as Jenny Lewis, eleven years old. She was last seen at the park three days ago.” 

“Just like Jessica,” you say. “Was it the same park?” 

“Yes.” 

“Three days ago? And Jessica went missing two days ago, so if the timeline is any indication…”

“We have less than twenty four hours to find Jessica,” Hotch finishes. JJ is frantically scribbling something onto a piece of paper while she walks. But then her ringtone goes off, and she raises her phone to her ear and bows away with an apologetic look in your direction, leaving you alone with Hotch. 

“Where’s the dump site?” You ask him, matching his brisk pace. 

“Just through this field, at the river. It’s about a five minute walk.” 

“How did you guys find it?” 

“We didn’t. We had been searching further upstream when we got a call from a local reporting a body.” He sounds bitter about it. 

“It’s not your fault you know,” you whisper. He pauses. 

“I’m the head of this team. Whatever happens is always partially my fault.” You can tell he isn’t just talking about the bodies, and when you meet his eyes, you’re embarrassed to admit you still feel a rush of heat. 

“Whatever, Hotch,” you mumble, and then you start walking again. 

“I’m sorry,” he says after a minute, and you have to hide your surprise. 

“For?”

“Profiling you. In front of the team. It was highly inappropriate and I let my emotions get the better of me. So I’m sorry.” You shrug. 

“What’s done is done Hotch. Get over it.” Bold words from someone who isn’t yet over it herself. He hesitates. 

“I was right though.” 

“About?” You have a sliver of worry, not wanting to know what it is he thinks he was right about. 

“The yelling. You were in an abusive relationship before, weren’t you? That’s why you can’t stand being told what to do and why you recoil ever so slightly when I raise my voice.” His voice is plain again, impartial. Like you were just another victim that he needed to talk. You stop, infuriated with him. He just can’t let things go. 

“Dammit, Hotchner!” You exclaim. “You just can’t let things go, can you? My former relationships are none of your business.” 

“They are when I’m one of them.” Now you’re really angry, and you blink back tears, not wanting to let him see you cry, especially over this. 

“You’ve made it explicitly clear you’re not! You don’t want to be! So stop dragging me through this over and over again! Please.” Your voice breaks on the last word, and a few tears start to fall. He looks startled. You can see something on the tip of his tongue, but you’re not sure what, and as soon as you see it it’s gone. He shakes his head. 

“If you don’t want to trust me, fine. But as the leader of this team- and you a member of this team by extension- you need to trust my ability to do my job. And right now my job is making sure you are in an emotionally stable enough state to do yours.” His formality makes you want to scream. 

“I’m fucking fine, Agent Hotchner.” You angrily wipe the tears off your cheeks. You can’t believe you came here for him. 

“I’m going to order a psych eval when we get back to the station-”

“Absolutely not! I am not a part of your team! You have no right to order an evaluation of the mental state that you put me in. These children and their families need us. Unlike last time I’m not going to let the way you feel about me get in the way of that.” You turn to keep walking, and he grabs your arm. Not hard, but firm enough to make the message clear that you’re not to keep walking. You try to jerk your arm free, and when it doesn’t work, you turn to face him. You’re shocked to see that his facial expressions are calm and slightly worried, not angry and cold. 

“What do you mean, ‘the mental state I put you in?’” He loosens his grip. You sigh heavily and fumble for the words. 

“This. We keep fighting, and you try to assert authority over me that you don’t have, and then you turn around and act like you actually give a shit about me beyond my ability to deliver high quality evaluations.” 

“You think that’s the only reason I care about you?”

“You certainly act like it.” 

“Well it’s not. At this moment, you are just as much a member of my team as Prentiss and Morgan and Reid and Garcia and Rossi and JJ. Therefore, I care about your wellbeing just as much as your performance on and off the field.” You don’t know if that makes you feel better or worse. On the one hand, Hotch doesn’t hate you. He cares about you. On the other hand, he cares about you. But not in the way you had hoped. When you raise your gaze to meet his eyes again, they’re a closed book. You wish you could open it. 

“Thanks,” is all you have to say, and you begin walking again, following the trail to the river. You need a break and you need to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg you guys !! i’m so sorry for my absence. my life has been SO crazy rn and unfortunately that means irregular updates. but all the love you give is enough to keep my going. like always, comments and kudos are appreciated! i love you all <3


	9. “Unknown Subject”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daggers, Detectives, & Drugs

By the time you get to the river, you’ve cooled off significantly. Luckily, Hotch was smart enough not to pursue you, instead waiting for JJ to catch up to walk with her. He stands off to the side, chatting quietly with a pretty young detective you vaguely remember from the station. You take your moment of peace to size her up. 

She’s pretty, you’ll give her that much, long red hair tied back in a braid. Her figure is slim but poised, and she’s got all the right curves in all the right places. She vaguely reminds you of Haley, in the fact that she seems confident with herself. Unjustified worry flutters through you that he might like her in more than a friendly way. You stomp it down, though, when Morgan comes up behind you and clears your throat. When you turn to face him, he raises an eyebrow. 

“Checking out Hotch’s second wife?” He asks, and your cheeks flame.

“What? No.” His eyebrow only creeps higher. 

“It’s alright if you were, Y/N. We’re very-”

“Morgan!” You scold. He drops it. 

“I actually came over to ask if you would take a look at Jenna. Maybe run a quick victim analysis. If our unsub is truly projecting themselves onto their victims like you propose, the more we understand the children they choose, the more likely we can understand and catch them.” You nod and take a deep breath. Dead bodies don’t bother you too much. If they did, you wouldn’t be here. But dead children? 

“I’m just thinking out loud here, but aren’t all of the mothers widows? Since we suggested that perhaps the unsub was projecting their mother onto the mothers, what if it isn't the father that’s dead at all, but the mother? This is their way of making their mother pay for leaving them, and their way of sparing themselves the pain of grief.” Morgan pauses to look at you. 

“You very well may be right. But in that case why did they not kill all the mothers?” 

“Because… because they didn’t want to. Out of their list of victims, they’ve only killed two of the moms. If they truly see themselves in the kids, they want to make their mom live through what it feels like to have someone you love die while also sparing themselves. Remember, they don’t see Jessica and Jenna. They see themselves. So their intent wasn’t to kill the mom’s; they were just in the way. Perhaps even witnesses. Liabilities. They had to off them or risk exposure.” 

“But then how does the widow part tie into all of this?” Morgan crosses his arms, but you can see he’s intrigued. 

“I don’t know,” you admit. At that moment, Prentiss decides to join you guys. 

“What doesn’t she know?” She asks Morgan. 

“Y/N thinks that maybe the unsub lost their mother instead. Which would align with the motive but not the only common thread in victimology, the widows.” You can see the gears turning in her brain. 

“Maybe the unsub was an orphan then? Dad died, mom couldn’t take it and offed herself. Sends the kid into foster care, perhaps an abusive family. That’s more than enough trauma to create the psychology issues behind it and lead to these killings, especially if we add in untreated mental health conditions,” Prentiss suggests. 

“That still doesn’t give us any leads in connections,” Morgan protests. “It doesn’t make any sense! If he’s picking these women because they’re widows, and he wants to stop them from doing what his mother did, how does killing their children suddenly make it go away?”

“To start, we don’t know if this unsub is a boy or girl. And it’s because they want to spare the children from going through the pain of losing both parents, while simultaneously making his mother pay. The mother’s will always be the targets, in a revenge standpoint, but the kids will always be the victims for the simple reason that they think they’re doing them a service. It’s a two-birds-with-one-stone scenario,” You explain patiently, and Morgan just stares. 

“I’m sorry, why don’t you work for the FBI?” He asks you, and you chuckle. 

“‘Cause bossman doesn’t want me to.” That elicits a laugh from Prentiss. Morgan raises an eyebrow. 

“And why would that be?” You pause to think this through. You know exactly why, but you can’t tell Morgan that. That doesn’t stop you from peering over your shoulder to look at Hotch and the detective. He says something that makes her laugh, and she rests her hand on his arm lightly, sweeping her hair over her shoulder. Morgan leans over to see what you’re looking at. “Detective Hart? What does she have to do with anything?” Emily’s eyes light up in recognition and she looks from you, to Hart, and back. 

“Because Hotch is into her,” Emily says matter of factly, and you try not to choke. 

“Who?” Morgan asks, not catching on.

“Detective Hart.” You try not to sigh in relief that they don’t know. But then you realize what this means, and the green monster rears its ugly head. You knew Hotch wasn’t into you anymore; he had made that very clear from the way he had been treating you as of late. But why, then, did he keep sending little signals? Partnering you with him, glancing at your lips. Blatantly flirting with you on the plane. It was all so confusing, and you have to stop yourself from spiraling. 

“You’re right,” Morgan says with amusement. “Look at the way she’s flirting with him.” The three of you all stop to watch Detective Hart take a step closer to Hotch and lick her lips, eyeing him up and down. You fight the urge to turn and puke into the bushes. The fact that he doesn’t seem that receptive to it is the only thing that stops you from doing so, but that’s a small reassurance considering he’s always like that. After a moment, you decide you’ve had enough, and you approach the body, nodding at the detective who lets you under the police tape. 

You get close, bending down to examine the child. If the unsub is truly doing this to protect them, they would want the execution to be quick and painless. All of the others were found dead one of two ways: a clean bullet shot execution style, or a stab wound to the neck. But when you lean down to find the method of homicide, you see no blood. No stab wounds or bullet entrance. Instead, there is a thin red line around her neck, blue bruises forming around it. Asphyxiation. 

“Excuse me, sir?” You call one of the EMTs. He whirls on his heel to come talk to you, a confused look on his face. “Dr. Y/L/N, licensed therapist and volunteer analysis expert with the FBI.” You flash him the temporary badge Hotch had given you.  
“Paramedic Marcus White,” he nods, offering you his hand. You grasp it in a handshake. He’s cute, you weren’t going to deny that. Brown hair, mussed up as if he had rolled out of bed and come to work, and dark blue eyes. You stare at him for a moment before remembering why you called him over. 

“Can you turn the body over for me?” You ask bluntly. 

“What?” He doesn’t seem disgusted by your demand, just confused. 

“Can you flip her onto her stomach so I can see her back?” He looks you dead in the eyes. “I need to see the back of her neck so I can tell if he applied pressure to the neck on just the front or if he cut off the airways with a tool such as a rope.” The paramedic looks at you some more, and you rise to your feet. Maybe if Rossi asks him to do it he will.  
You glance around the scene in search of Rossi, but he is nowhere to be found. Perhaps he dragged you here to do his job for him. “Prentiss!” You call, waving her over. She breaks into a jog, nearly tripping over a rock on her way over. “Have you seen Rossi?” She briefly glances around in search of him, but she also shakes her head. 

“I haven’t seen him or Hotch.” 

“Hotch?” You ask, but when you turn, sure enough Hotch is gone. You turn back to her. “That’s weird.” She shrugs. “I really need to speak to one of them though- look,” you begin, then crouch down beside the body again, prompting Emily to do the same. 

“She was asphyxiated, not shot or stabbed. Different MO.” 

“They’re devolving,” she says, studying the wounds. 

“Maybe. Either that or we have a different unsub.” Emily turns her head to look at you.

“Two different unsubs? Like a duo?” 

“Or a copycat,” you suggest. Marcus hovers nearby, watching you and Prentiss skeptically. You glance him up and down, then turn to her. “Does he look a little suspicious to you?” You whisper. 

“What?” She asks, but she turns anyway, also glancing at him. “A little.” 

“His behavior has been erratic ever since we got here. His hair is untamed, a quality at first I thought was intentional and attractive but now realize could be due to high tension. The scratches on his arms imply he was running through the woods or other sort of brush. Not to mention he tried to stop me from examining the body.” 

“He is a paramedic, Y/N, he could just be doing his job.” 

“Perhaps,” you say. “Just be wary.” Prentiss nods, then rises. You follow suit. “I’m going to head back to the SUV’s; I need to tell Hotch about our new developments and I’m pretty sure I left my phone in JJ and mine.” 

“Okay,” she says, brushing her off her shoulders. 

“But be smart. The unsub could still be around here.” 

“I know.” She hesitates, then unholsters her gun. 

“I would feel better if you take this. It goes against protocol but I’m here with Morgan and Reid and JJ should a gun be needed. You’re going alone.” You sigh and cross your arms. 

“I’ll be fine.” 

“Regardless, for my own wellbeing. I would accompany you but two of us are already gone and we still need agents at the scene.” You sigh and take the gun from her, double checking that the safety is on. “Third generation Glock 19,” she informs you. 

“Thanks, agent. Be back soon,” you say, and then you head back to the trail. As you walk, you let your mind drift back to Hotch. The issues very well could be stemming from miscommunication like JJ suggested; he never explicitly stated he wasn’t interested in pursuing something with you since your return to the bureau. If anything, he implied he would be. Plus, Rossi said Hotch wanted your presence. That was the whole reason you came, if you were being honest with yourself. But then why did Hotch seem surprised and frankly a little upset that you had come? And why did he try to stop you from coming to Kansas? An optimistic voice in the back of your head suggests that perhaps he was scared he couldn’t control himself around you, but a more pessimistic one squashes it, saying it was because he hated you and was trying to push you away. But then your conversation from the walk in comes surging back, when he said he cared about you like… like a member of the team. Dammit. 

A few minutes into your walk, the sound of rustling from the field besides you snaps you out of your thoughts. You freeze, assessing the situation. It could very well be an animal of some sort, or one of Hotch’s agents, so you wait. When you hear rustling coming from the tall grasses again, you turn in the direction of the noise. You take the safety off of Emily’s gun, holding it firm but angled towards the ground. 

If this is the unsub, or perhaps the copycat, you can’t risk them getting away while you either turn back to grab Prentiss or run ahead in hopes of encountering Hotch. So you approach the source of the noise, raising the gun slowly. Through the brush you catch a glimpse of a black jacket, and from the cut, it looks like it belongs to a man. 

“Sir?” You call, steadily holding the gun in front of you. “Y/N Y/L/N, FBI.” Despite the tenseness of the situation, the satisfaction of identifying yourself as FBI is not lost on you. The jacket moves backwards, as if trying to make a slow retreat. You take another step forward. Regardless of if this is the copycat or the actual unsub, they are clearly extremely emotionally fragile, so you must be careful. “We don’t want to hurt you, we just want to make sure you’re alright.” The movement stops, and after a moment you dare to reach out, pulling the grasses back with one hand while keeping the other on the gun, still aimed straight at the unsub. Eventually, you lock eyes with a man. 

He’s small, and very frail looking, a tattered black jacket and blood stained jeans. There’s traces of dried blood in his pale hair, too, and he smells vaguely of urine and...pot. You stare at him and he watches you warily, eyes slowly creeping up your legs, abdomen, chest, and eventually face. You can vaguely make out the shape of the hilt of a dagger on his waist, a rather unprofessional choice in your opinion. You always carry yours in your boot. 

“Look, lady,” he eventually slurs, voice deeper than you were expecting but dripping with something that makes your blood run cold. “I don’t know whatchu wants from me, but I guarantee you yous ain’t gonna get it with that gun pointed at my head.” He has a distinctly southern accent, perhaps from Louisiana or Alabama. He speaks slowly and deliberately, but whether it’s an intimidation thing or an attempt to portray sobriety, you can’t tell. 

“Hand me the dagger first, then maybe we can talk,” you say coldly, never wavering. He looks confused. 

“Dagger? I ain’t got no dagger.” He crosses his legs. 

“On your waist. Black hilt, probably a concealed sheath, which is an offense in and of its own. Judging by the size I’m gonna guess a blade length of 4 inches, maybe 5. It’s got a hand guard, too, so it’s probably double sided. Would you give it to me?” He stares at you. 

“Y/N? Did you say your name was? I don’t got no gun and I don’t want any troubles.” 

“I didn’t say you have a gun, I said you have a dagger. Give it to me.” Despite the calm and controlled exterior you were exhibiting, on the inside you were freaking out. This is a high stress situation all by itself, only heightened by the fact that you’re not a real agent and you’re alone. Should you have to shoot, especially with a federal issued gun, you’ll be in real trouble with the bureau and with Strauss. If she had called you here too like Rossi stated, then clearly she was giving you another chance. And that woman does not give second chances. 

“I don’t remember carrying any dagger here, Y/N baby,” he drawls, and you fight the urge to gag. 

“It’s Doctor Y/L/N to you. And maybe this will help jog your memory.” You cock the gun. He throws his hands up in mock surrender. 

“Doctor baby, no need to do none of that. I just wanna be on my merry way.” 

“So do I, you bastard. The sooner you give me the knife the sooner we can do that.” A toothy grin lights up his face, his teeth chipped and yellowed, blood smeared across them. 

“Feisty. I like ‘em feisty,” he purrs at you making cat claws, and you don’t flinch no matter how much your body is screaming at you to do so. 

“Is that why you kidnapped and killed Jenny Lewis?” Shock tears across his features, and his smile drops.

“Jenny Lewis? You mean Brian’s little girl?” 

“Eleven years old, brunette? Yeah.” You loosen your grip on the gun ever so slightly. 

“I would never. You mean to tell me that something’s happened to my little Jenny?” You pause. 

“Your little Jenny?” He freezes, realizing his mistake. 

“Yeah, I- she- we-”

“You what, sir?” He swallows hard. “You have the right to remain silent, you know, babe,” you bite. “Not like the police need any more reasons to arrest you.” 

“You think I killed her?” 

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” 

“Why would I kill my little Jenny?” Realizing this is going nowhere, you switch tracks. 

“I don’t know. But you can help me catch the son of a bitch who did this. Just give me the dagger.” 

For a minute, he looks like he might do it. He reaches slowly for it and pulls it out of the sheath, being extra careful to point the tip down. But when you lean forward to take it from him, he quickly points it out, slashing your abdomen. He lunges again, this time for your neck, but you react quickly, grabbing his upper arm and twisting until the knife clatters to the ground. Then on an instinct you shoot him right in the leg. A nonfatal wound, but one that will ensure he can’t walk. He stares at the bloody hole in his thigh, then right back up at you.

“You bitch,” he snarls, reaching blindly for the knife, but you grab it and stuff it into your boot with your dagger. The blade pricks at your ankle, but you have bigger things to worry about. You clutch your stomach where he ripped the flesh and try not to puke. Luckily your layered clothing to keep out the cold took most of the blow, but there is still a shallow bloody gash raking from below your ribs to your belly button. Besides you, he vomits and blacks out from the pain. You collapse to the ground, exhausted, scared, and in pain. 

At the sound of gunshots, almost the entire BAU heads at full speed towards the direction of the sound. Hotch gets to you first, coming from the general direction of the SUVs. You can see him examine the scene as he charges towards you, gun drawn, and collapse next to you. He’s breathing heavily, and your brain has very sinful thoughts that are not at all appropriate considering the situation. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, immediately removing his suit jacket to put it around you. It’s a little too big, but it stops your teeth from chattering, so for that you’re grateful. Then he takes off his tie and ties it around your midsection, in the middle of the wound. If your vision wasn’t hazy from the pain, you would appreciate the sight of Hotch undressing in front of you. He applies pressure to the wound, and you hiss because damn does it burn.

“Fine,” you grit out. He frowns at you, the most emotion he’s shown all day apart from his little “affectionate” display earlier. “It’s not like I was just stabbed or anything,” you attempt to joke, but it comes out more pitiful than you ended and his frown deepens. “You’re going to get your tie all bloody.”

“I’ll buy a new one,” he retorts, changing the angle of his hands. “Can you lay down and spread your legs?”

“Wow, already? You haven’t even bought me dinner yet Agent Hotchner,” you joke, and he looks unamused.

“It’s to stop the bleeding.” You open your mouth to make another joke, but then the wound throbs, and you groan in pain, collapsing onto your back. He sits between your legs, hands firmly placed on your stomach. You stay like that until you see Prentiss booking it from the river. Bold actions considering you have her gun. She looks horrified when she sees you.

“Y/N! What happened?” 

“I was...acting...unprofessional… and I got stabbed,” you pant, reaching up to grab her hand. She takes it before crouching beside you. 

“Can you do this?” Hotch asks her after a moment. 

“I have to treat the unsub and call 911.” She nods and without a second's hesitation replaces his hands. You feel vaguely guilty that your friend is currently holding your insides together but hey, it’s just part of the job.

“So that was the bastard, huh?” She asks you, and you cluck your tongue.

“I’m not… not sure,” you squeeze out, black clouding the edges of your vision. You know you’re about to black out and you use all your energy trying not to. You moan in pain and you see Hotch turn around to look at you, phone to his ear. That’s odd. You don’t remember him dialing anyone. And… since when was Morgan cuffing the unsub? When did JJ get here and take your hand? Your vision and consciousness swim in and out, and the last thing you see is Hotch bent over you, running his fingers through your hair and murmuring sweet nothings.  
***  
When you come to, you’re sitting in the back of an ambulance, an IV hooked into your arm and a hand holding yours. A firm hand. A strong hand. You squeeze it, not opening your eyes, and it squeezes back. Then your eyes fly open. “Hotch?” He looks at you and relief floods his features. 

“Hey, you blacked out. Doctors said if you weren’t awake by the time they got to the hospital they were going to have to admit you.” You furrow your brows and glance out the window at the suburban town. “Yeah, you woke up just in time.” 

“Did you get him?” You ask, voice hoarse.

“Yeah. The police ran and ID and he looks like he may be our guy. Morgan, Prentiss, and Reid are at his home right now seeing if they can find Jessica.” 

“I think- I think he was grooming them, or at least sexually assaulting them. He kept referring to Jenny as ‘my Jenny.’” 

“Maybe, but the coroner said there were no signs of rape.” 

“Then I don’t-” you cough, and try not to vomit when you can literally feel your insides shift and blood squirt out of you. “I don’t know.” 

“Prentiss said you suspected Marcus White.” 

“That’s the paramedic, right?” Hotch nods. “I think he helped our guy escape at the very least.”

“I would have to agree, which is why we have him in custody as well.” You smile delicately, closing your eyes again and falling back to sleep. You don’t see the adoring look Hotch gives you.  
***  
When you wake up again, you’re in a hospital bed. You feel fine, and you move to sit up, but then a machine starts beeping and Morgan hops up out of the chair.

“Hey momma, slow down, where are you going?” You shrug.

“I just want to sit up.” You look down at your stomach and see several stitches in your abdomen. Morgans seems to read your mind.

“It was a lot deeper than you think. The doctor said you’re lucky there was no lasting damage to any internal organs.” You frown. “You’ve been asleep for a little over a day; we’ve been switching out who stays with you. Hotch spent the longest here; if not for all the fighting you guys have been doing recently I would suspect feelings.” You make eye contact with Morgan.

“He hates me, Derek, and I don’t even know what I did.” You fight back tears. Now it’s Morgan’s turn to frown, and he sits gingerly on the edge of your bed.

“I don’t think he hates you. He just takes a while to warm up to people, and you did run off.” You reflect on this for a moment. He kept sending you mixed messages, and you almost say that to Morgan before remembering that you were trying to keep this under wraps. Just then, Hotch knocks softly on your door and comes in.

“Who doesn’t hate you?” He asks. 

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” you mutter, and Morgan chuckles.

“I brought you jello,” Hotch says, handing you a green cup. You fake a gagging noise.

“Green? Really?” 

“It was the only flavor they had.” You roll your eyes and take a bite. Morgan rises, and Hotch takes a seat in the chair in the corner. “You were right; the man you shot was our guy. Jeremy Rice. He had Jessica in his basement, raped several times among other things.” You immediately set down your jello. 

“And Marcus?”

“Helped to hide him in the nearby brush, which explains the various scratches.” 

“So what about the copycat?” You’re confused, but it may just be the pain killers. Your brain still feels incredibly foggy. 

“Jeremy was the unsub. He killed the first several girls and performed the kidnapping. Marcus was his accomplice, for the most part. Except the last girl, in which Marcus was our killer. He suffocated Jenny, then rushed off the scene to play the paramedic.”

“Why was Jeremy covered in blood then?” 

“He had… just finished killing the other girl Jessica was with. We didn’t even know there was another until we found the body. She’s a Jane Doe.” You blink several times in a row, the light too bright and your brain refusing to process the information being thrown at you. Hotch doesn’t miss it. “You can go back to sleep, you know. They- it’s really bad. The team is waiting until tomorrow to fly home; they don’t want you to have to drive back.” You furrow your brows. 

“I… I’m… thank you.” You whisper, not even sure what you’re saying. “You should go be with Hart…”

“Hart?” Hotch asks, shifting in his chair. “Like the detective?”

“Yeah,” you slur, fading back out. “You guys seem to like ‘chother. She’s prettier than me anyway.” Hotch’s facial expressions become unreadable. 

“Y/N… I don’t like her like that. I don’t even have her number.” 

“Good, ‘cause you’re mine,” you murmur, and then you drift out again. You’re fast asleep by the time Hotch whispers “yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the longest chapter yet! i think i’m gonna start making them longer. as always hope you enjoyed :)


	10. "The Job"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Realizations, Recoveries, & Regrets

“I’m afraid we can’t clear you to fly home,” your doctor says, a clipboard in hand. “You can sign here for your discharge though.” He hands you the pen and clipboard, and Emily raises her eyebrows, glancing between you and the doctor. She stands and peers over your shoulder at the papers, reading over the doctor’s writing. 

“Why not?” She asks after a moment. “It’s a stab wound; the pressure changes shouldn’t affect anything and that’s about all of the issues I can think of that could occur.” 

“It is about cabin pressure. We legally cannot clear you to fly within three days of receiving stitches.” You skim the pages. “You were admitted Friday afternoon and it’s now Sunday morning. I can’t let you fly until tomorrow.” Prentiss looks at you, a silent conversation.

“You guys already pushed your flight until today to wait for me. I can’t ask you to wait until tomorrow too, you probably already have a pending case on JJ’s desk.” 

“But if we don’t wait that ruins the sentiment.” She seems genuinely upset over it, so you take her hand.

“Em, it’s okay. I came because I wanted to.” The doctor watches the scene uncomfortably. 

“No, you came because you wanted to spite Hotch.” You open your mouth to protest, but she has this knowing glint in her eye, and you sigh, throwing your head back against the pillow. 

“We can talk about this at the hotel. If Dr. Yardley wants to discharge me, I'm not complaining.” He nods, and you grab the pen. But in doing so you twist your arm awkwardly, and the IV yanks in your arm. You jerk re-actively, which only further twists the needle, and the stitches in your stomach pull tight. You groan and drop the pen, clutching your abdomen. Dr. Yardley glances at you for a second.

“On second thought, maybe we best keep you one more night.” You shake your head to disagree, but Emily betrays you.

“Great idea, Dr. Yardley,” she affirms, handing him the unsigned discharge papers. You groan again, but this time out of annoyance with Emily.

“No!” You exclaim, making grabby hands for the pen, but he takes a step back. “It already doesn’t hurt.” Prentiss and your doctor exchange a suspicious glance, and he turns to you.

“Do a sit up for me. If you can sit yourself upright with no discomfort I’ll discharge you tonight.” You bite the inside of your cheek, then immediately stop, remembering it’s a tell. 

“Don’t try to lie, either, Y/N. Not only am I a profiler but I’m one of your best friends.” You stare at her with puppy dog eyes.

“Why are you doing this to me?” You plead, and she shakes her head, bangs swinging with the movement. 

“Because you got hurt on your first case back-”

“My only case back-”

“And you didn’t even want to come. So I need to make sure you can actually recover.” 

“But I have work tomorrow.” 

“No you don’t. Rossi called your dad and your boss to notify them of your arrangement with the BAU.” 

“Emily, please,” you beg, and you move to sit up, but you can’t. The doctor nods, all the confirmation he needs, and moves to bow out of the room. “Wait!” You call after him, and he stops. “I want to sign out AMA.” He glances at the papers and then to Emily, as if waiting for her response.

“Against medical advice? Absolutely not.” She stands up to her full height and crosses her arms, using her FBI voice. 

“I’m a full grown woman and I can make my own decisions,” you say to her as the doctor hands you the discharge papers. 

“You were stabbed!” She shouts exhaustedly, throwing her hands up. She begins pacing, and then she grabs her phone out of her pocket. Clearly having found an alternative solution. “Hey, Hotch-” She begins, and your jaw drops. She didn’t. “Yeah, if you don’t mind. And bring Rossi too.” Then she hangs up. 

“Are you kidding me?” You demand. The poor doctor looks so confused, and you sigh. “You can go, sorry sir.” You hand him the papers, unsigned. “I’m going to need to discuss this with my team before I can come to a decision.” He nods and exits the room, closing the door behind him. Because of your status with the FBI, you got a single room. With a window. 

A few minutes later the door swings back open, and Hotch and Rossi march in all business. Somehow, Hotch even seems to make walking look hot and authoritative. Prentiss nods at them and leaves the room, shooting you a pitiful glance as if she wasn’t the one who put you in this position to begin with. Rossi speaks first.

“You can’t sign out against medical advice. I won’t allow it. Sorry.” 

“All due respect Uncle David, but it isn’t your call.” He frowns.

“You’re under my watch, aren’t you? What would your dad say?”

“That’s not your problem, nor is it his. Last I checked I was over 18 wasn’t I? Meaning it’s my decision.” Sarcasm drips from your voice, and you grab the hospital bed remote to pull yourself up into a sitting position. You pull the blankets up with you so they can’t see your scar. 

“Y/N-” Hotch tries, and your heart skips a beat at the use of your first name. Everything feels so surreal, but you have vague memories of him running his fingers through your hair and holding your hand. There was no way he didn’t have at least a few feelings for you. Most of the time in the hospital when you dreamt, you dreamt of him. Did he dream of you?

“No, Hotch. Whatever it is, no.” 

“You got hurt under my supervision, so my opinion should be weighed.” 

“Sorry, sir, not your decision either.” When you say the word “sir”, Hotch swallows hard, and you almost do a double take. Did he- was he attracted to that? You decide to try it again. “While I do value your opinion, sir, I-” yep. He licks his lips, and you have to still your racing thoughts, losing your train of thought. “In the end I need to make the call best for me.” 

“I agree wholeheartedly,” he says, back in professional mode, but when he thinks you turn to look at Rossi, his eyes rake over your body. You suppress a smirk. “Which is why I think it would be in your best interest to spend a third night in the hospital.” Rossi nods in agreement.

“I already called your therapy job to inform them that you came on an impromptu case with the FBI and had managed to get yourself stabbed- your boss, Dr. Walters was very understanding. He gave you the week off, paid, so long as we submitted a leave of absence from the hospital with proof of injury, so I had your father take care of that.” You nod, grateful but also slightly irritated.

“Thanks,” you say. “But I cannot stay in the hospital. I have no means of returning back to DC.” At that, Hotch lifts his gaze from the floor. 

“We were thinking you could drive back.” 

“I- I don’t think I’m in any condition to be driving anywhere,” you retort, gesturing to the general area of your abdomen, trying not to yelp in pain when you accidentally flex the muscles.

“You wouldn’t be the one driving. I talked it over with Rossi, and one of us would be willing to drive back with you.” Your heart stops. You don’t want to be stuck in a car with either of them.

“Are you sure? It’s over nineteen hours back to Quantico.” He nods. 

“Either that, or we could wait until tomorrow to fly home.” 

“Strauss would not appreciate that,” you joke. “She probably hardly wanted me to attend in the first place.” At that, Rossi and Hotch exchange another glance, and you feel your heart stop again. When they don’t say anything, you decide to prompt them. “Unless....?”

“Well, Y/N, I already informed you Strauss requested your presence.” Rossi begins. You nod, recalling your conversation outside the coffee shop not days before. God, it felt like so long ago. “But what I didn’t tell you was it was also partly her idea.” Your mouth goes dry, the implication of that setting in.

“You mean…”

“She and I had been toying with the idea of potentially bringing you back,” Hotch says uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck.

“For good,” Rossi finishes. And there it is; your third heart attack. Except this time your heart rate spikes, and your monitor starts beeping loudly. 

“Dammit!” You exclaim, but whether it’s in response to the incessant high pitched beeps or what Rossi and Hotch just laid down in front of you, you can’t tell. For the first time in your entire existence, you see both of them look unsure. Hotch fidgets with the knot on his tie, which has no right to be as attractive as it is might you add, pretty hands wrapped around his throat. And Rossi just stares straight down at the floor. You shake your head and grit your teeth, and the three of you stay like that until the nurse comes in to shut down the machine and take your vitals. They watch as she examines you from head to toe, before peeling back the blanket to peer at your stitches. 

There’s an ugly bruising around the stitches, and silvery scars thread across the skin. It’s puckered from being pulled taught and then bunched up, and you have to look away. But in doing so you accidentally make eye contact with Hotch, who had apparently been watching you closely since the nurse came in for his own assessment of your wellbeing. He holds your gaze, firm and commanding, and butterflies surge through your stomach. You lick your lips, unable to look away, captivated by his icy stare. His eyes flit down to your lips, and he swallows hard when your tongue darts out to wet them. Then his gaze drops again, to your scars, and you cuss him out in your head. You had worked hard to ensure that he wouldn’t see them. When the nurse leaves the room, you continue your discussion from before. 

“Guys, I left the BAU for a reason,” you begin. “Several reasons. While one of them was personal, the rest were not. I cost you guys a case and quite frankly, working on the team officially or not was suffocating. The pressure and the work was constant, and the stakes high.” You say the next part staring at Rossi. “Everyone has their breaking point. I reached mine.” You had expected Rossi to react to that quote; that was exactly what he had said to you when Aiden left you. What surprised you was the flash of recognition in Hotch’s eyes too. “While I appreciate the idea that you think all of a sudden I’ve recovered, that I can handle working with you, I can’t. The simple truth is that I’m still some silly little girl trapped in an adult’s body.” Once the words come, they can’t stop, and tears well up in your eyes. You hadn’t meant to get this personal. The pain meds must be interfering with your ability to think straight. “My role in the BAU cost three children their lives. It cost me my sleep, my relationships, my fiance-” Shit. Hotch’s eyebrows shoot up, and even Rossi looks vaguely surprised. He had known that you and Aiden were engaged, but you had asked him to keep it a secret. 

“Fiance?” Hotch asks, and is that… jealousy? You sigh. 

“Yes. Fiance. Aiden Walker and I got engaged a little while after I stopped volunteering with the FBI.” What you don’t mention is you guys had only been dating for a month before he proposed. You had only started dating him as a rebound from Hotch. He had found out that you were in love with another man, however, and that was the end of it. The relationship lasted a total of four months. May to September. You’re honestly surprised it lasted that long. You had loved Aiden, you really had; but for some reason you couldn’t get over Hotch. And Aiden couldn’t commit to someone who wasn’t truly devoted to him. Which was fair. 

“So what broke you guys up?” He asked, his interrogation mode activated. You shake your head, the tears threatening to spill over. Hotch doesn’t seem okay with that at all. “I said- what broke you guys up?” Is it bad that his aggression turned you on, just a little? Probably bad, considering you were discussing your ex. You squeeze your eyes shut.   
“Y/N?” He demands. You hear Rossi make a small noise, most likely the start of an interruption to save you, but Hotch growls and Rossi goes silent. A minute later, you hear the door click, leaving you alone with Hotch. You shake your head again, and you feel his presence looming over you as he takes a step closer. “You’ve done nothing but lie to me this entire time. You owe me an explanation, or you need to get off my team.” Then the tears spill over. 

“I’m not on your team, Hotchner! Why don’t you get that? I never was and I never want to be!” Your monitor beeps warningly, and you rip the clip on your finger off, sending the machine back into a frenzy. 

“Tell. Me. The. Truth.”

“No! You first. You want honesty, let’s get it all out there. Why the fuck do you hate me? What did I do to you? Right when I start to think maybe you’re into me again, you pull shit like this!” You throw your arms around wildly, and you’re so angry the pain in your abdomen is barely noticeable. Your heart beat feels off, however, and it panics you more. 

“Into you?” He asks quietly, and you gulp. The only thing scarier than a shouting angry Hotch was a quiet one. “Get over yourself, Y/N,” he scoffs. “I never was, and I never will be. Just like what you keep telling me about being on my team. It was one night and I was drunk. We all make mistakes.” Your tears stop, and you almost scream. 

“A mistake? Is that what I am to you? Five minutes ago you were asking me to work for you.” He frowns.

“I didn’t say you were a mistake-”

“It certainly fucking sounded like it. You know what, Agent, get the hell out of my hospital room. I can’t believe you would do this to me! Not just in general but in the hospital of all places. Get out.” Black and red clouds the edges of your vision, but you assume it’s just from the anger. 

“Y/N, no-”

“I said, get out.” You pronounce each syllable carefully, and almost scream again when he doesn’t move. Thankfully, the nurse comes into your room again. “Nurse, Nurse Bella, thank God. He’s harassing me, it’s stressing me out, I-” She shushes you, clipping the monitor back onto your finger. But she doesn’t tell Hotch to leave. Instead, she crosses the room and mutters in his ear.

“I’m so sorry. The painkillers can cause her to think irrationally. We administered her last dosage just a few minutes ago at our previous check up, she should be off them tomorrow. Until then please try to keep stress levels and decision making to a minimum.” Hotch nods solemnly, quietly thanks her, and then comes to sit on the edge of your bed. You have to take several deep breaths to stop yourself from puking. You both sit there for a moment, reflecting on what just happened. Hotch turns to you.

“Look, Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push. I just felt that-” He stops, and you turn your head to look at him. “I felt like you didn’t want to be around me. You lying to me only made that worse.” You knew how protective Hotch was of his family; you had watched what happened to Haley. So it was only logical that he would need honesty to feel like he could do his job. Honesty was a sign of loyalty. You take a deep breath, pain burning in your abdomen, before grabbing his hand. 

It’s nothing fierce; a simple gesture to show compassion. You can’t grip it very hard, since you’re still extremely weak and various tubes, needles, and monitors are poking out of your arm, but you still hold it loosely. Your breath catches in your throat when he intertwines your fingers together, rough, calloused palms scraping against cold, soft ones. He gives it a gentle squeeze, and tears brim in your eyes. You nod.

“I’m sorry, too. This whole time you’ve been acting as though you don’t want me here, and I let it get to me.” He sucks air in through his teeth, and frustration pricks at you again. “What?” 

“Clearly I want you here. I’m sitting in this hospital room right now. Hell, Y/N, I just offered you a permanent position with the bureau.”

“For the same reason you let me come; because Rossi wanted me and you saw what a valuable asset I could be. I’m not stupid.” You turn your head away again, and, acting on an impulse, his other hand shoots out to grab your chin. He turns your head back and holds it still so you can make eye contact with him. Your pulse thrums like fire in your veins, and you almost get cottonmouth. All you can do is stare at him. 

“I know you’re not stupid. Bringing you back was my idea.” His hand doesn’t move as he stares you dead in the eyes. You swallow hard, and something dark flashes in his eyes. 

“So was forcing me to leave,” you whisper, and your voice vibrates against his hand. 

“No,” he whispers, leaning so close you can feel his breath tickle your neck. “It was yours. I never, ever, want to let you go.” His voice is hoarse and sorrowful, and it makes you shiver. He smirks when he feels it before pulling his hand away. He doesn’t move his head. Your senses go into overdrive, and you can feel every breath that passes through his lips, every shift he makes on the bed. 

“It’s not up to you,” you whisper back, and it kills you to say it, but you have to. You have to stop whatever this is before it can start. For your job, for him, for you. Because you let yourself walk this line before. When you pull away, the moment shatters into a thousand pieces, like a dropped shard of glass. All that’s left are the sparkling remains; painful to the touch, sorrowful to remember what you lost, but beautiful when it catches the light. 

“It can be,” he says, before lifting himself off the bed. “Take the job or don’t. I’ve had Strauss fielding me transfer requests into my unit for weeks. But we both agreed that we wanted you to be top priority and get first dibs.” You nod, already knowing you can’t take that job. He knows, too; he can see it in your eyes. And he’ll never admit it, but that little piece of broken glass has sliced him open once more. He goes to exit the hospital room, but you call out to him. 

“Hotchner, wait!” He turns to look at you, prompting you to speak. “Rossi said you wanted me to aid this case. But when I arrived in the unit you were shocked and upset. Did you request my consultation or not?” You leave out the part about him wanting you not to come. That feels too personal, and the medicines have already forced you to reveal more than enough for today. You can see the gears turning in his head.

“Yes.” Is all he says, and you stop to think about his answer for a moment. Normally you love reading into things, but it’s so cryptic and you’re so exhausted that all it does is piss you off. 

“Yes what!?” You demand.

“To answer your question. Yes.” You growl, literally growl, and move to get out of the bed, but the searing pain in your stab wound stops you from doing so. You fall back into the pillows, aghast. 

“Yes what, Hotchner? This isn’t some game.”

“You’re right. It isn’t. So stop playing it like it is, doctor.” He leaves the room, the door closing with a gentle click behind him, before you get the chance to respond.   
***

“Knock knock,” JJ sings, opening the door. You groan and turn your head into the pillow. The last few lights of day slip through the window in your hospital room, casting a golden glow onto everything. “Wake up sleepyhead,” she continues, dropping into the chair besides your bed. 

“Fuck off,” you mumble, throwing your arm over your face.

“You’ve been asleep since Hotch and Rossi came in to visit you. It’s like 6pm now; wake up.” She sounds playful, but you can tell she’s actually a little bit salty. When the fog in your brain clears, you sit up with a start, ignoring the tug of the stitches in your gut. 

Why are you guys even still here?” You ask, blinking a few times to unblur your vision. When the world comes into complete focus, you see Emily sitting on the counter-top/windowsill on your left. 

“Bossman ordered that we wait for you,” she says, swinging her legs. “Either he really likes you or he really didn’t wanna leave cornland,” she teases with a wink. JJ pulls a tight-lipped, knowing smirk. You groan again.

“He probably didn’t want to make one of you have to drive my drugged up ass home.” Emily shrugs.

“Either way, it wasn’t a total waste. We managed to get most of the paperwork done. JJ and Morgan even went to visit Jessica Simmons.” JJ nods. “Which reminds me!” Emily exclaims, hopping off of the windowsill. You brace yourself in preparation for whatever Prentiss has in store. You’re taken off guard when she hands you a simple drawing in crayon. “She drew this for you.”

“Who did, JJ?” You quip. “You’re a better artist than I thought, Jayge,” you continue, and she rolls her eyes with a sigh.

“No, Jessica did. She said she wanted me to give it to ‘the woman who was Black Widow, but cooler.’” JJ says. Your face lights up with a grin.

“Black Widow, huh? I’ll take it.” You examine the picture carefully. It’s a stick figure of you with a gun trained at Jeremy, with what you can only assume is a stick figure Jessica cheering you on in the background. In big, red letters at the top, she’s written “you’re my hero.” You’re not sure how she even knows who you are or what you look like. 

“We showed her a picture,” JJ supplies helpfully, as if she had read your mind. “Her mother remembered you from the interviews and wanted to know where you were. Morgan told her that you had been stabbed in the arrest and she started freaking out. She had actually wanted to come visit you in the hospital but Morgan shot her down. Then I explained to her that you had gotten yourself stabbed in a reckless yet selfless attempt to catch Jeremy and she insisted on telling her daughter who you were, saying you were her real life superhero. So naturally little Jessica wanted to see a picture of her savior.” By the end of JJ’s speech, tears are brimming in your eyes.

“But I didn’t save her. You guys did when you busted the house.” 

“We wouldn’t have gotten there if you hadn’t caught one of our guys and given us a lead to the other.” You stare at the crayon portrait again, and you can feel your opinion shift. You had helped to save a little girls’ life, and now she will never forget. Can you really walk away from doing that for other people, too?

“Thank you,” you say, setting it on your little bedside table. Emily nods. “I um… I think I need to speak with Hotch. Again.” Prentiss raises an eyebrow, but JJ looks proud of you. Like she knew exactly what was about to happen. 

“I’ll call him in for you,” Emily says, flipping open her phone. “I think I’m going to go back to the hotel and crash for the night after, so I’ll see you on the jet tomorrow, Y/N.” She waves before stepping out of the room, leaving you alone with JJ.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you start, rolling your head. JJ’s entire face lights up as she moves from the chair to the foot of your bed.

“Like what?” She asks innocently, and you sigh.

“Like I’m some puzzle you finally finished.” 

“Well, you kind of are,” she argues, grabbing your foot. You hiss. “Hotch offered you a job, didn’t he?” You freeze. “Oh come on, Y/N, you’re not that good at hiding things. Just because the rest of the team is oblivious-”

“Not. A. Word.” You interrupt her, curling your toes.

“Not a soul,” she adds on, and then she lays back next to you, gingerly laying her head on your chest. “Are you going to take it?” 

“Probably,” you confess. “I wasn’t going to. But then again I wasn’t even going to come to Quantico.” She snorts. 

“You are such a pain in the ass.” 

“Hey!” You scold, swatting the top of her head. “One of us just got stabbed.” 

“Which is a very pain in the ass thing to do. The whole damn team had to wait for you.” You go quiet, the playful banter lost. When you don’t make a retort, she cranes her neck to look up at you. “Sweetheart, I didn’t mean it like that. If anything it’s a good thing. We get our paperwork done and get paid for still being on the job.” You force a laugh.

“I guess so.” 

“You’re so damn lucky you don’t have any paperwork. Maybe I should be a consultant.” 

“It’s not as fun as it looks.” 

“Neither is being an agent. But I trust you’ll make the right decision.” She sits up and sets the drawing on your bed, and that was it. You knew regardless of what was happening between you and the unit chief, you would take the job. Your dad would be thrilled. She gives you one more smile. “I’ll give you a few minutes before Hotch gets here.” Then she, too, is gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts. What a day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys! i'm not sure how i feel about this chapter, but i definitely know where this is going and i have a feeling you'll be happy about it ;) 
> 
> i'm so sorry about the irregular updates; we had fallen into a pattern for a while but my life has been thrown into disarray. now i know i make excuses a lot (sorry!) but my grandfather passed away on monday so things have been messy for me as of late. i will be trying my best to maintain weekly updates, but if some come quicker or slower than others, my sincerest apologies. if you've stuck around for this whole thing, thank you so much. as always, i love receiving comments and kudos, and enjoy!


	11. "A Thin Line"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jealousy, Jets, & Jobs

The jet touched down just after noon; your stomach wound was killing you and you now understood why they wouldn’t let you fly home sooner. As the team filed off the jet one by one, you stayed put, forcing back tears. Take off and landing had been the worst. You fumble around in your purse, the only thing you had taken with you to Kansas, for your pain pills. So much had changed in such a short amount of time. You were wearing a sleep shirt of JJ’s, since you hadn’t brought a go bag and the hospital wouldn’t discharge you in a robe. Since Emily’s shirt was the one that was slashed by the knife, you had tried to pay her back, but she stopped you saying that you coming on the case was more than enough compensation. 

Hotch paused on his way off the plane, turning to look at you. You force a smile, and he shakes his head, coming back to help you. 

“I don’t need your help,” you scoff, attempting to stand on your own. He watches you in poorly suppressed amusement as you attempt to stand and fall back into the chair. You roll your eyes, and he smirks, and oh my God he smirked. Aaron Hotchner. Smirking. Has the world stopped spinning? Yours certainly has. It’s crazy to think just this morning the thought of him made you want to puke. Now he makes you want to puke, but not in a bad way. 

He extends his hand to you to help you up, and you take it, skimming over the fact that this was the second time you had held Hotch’s hand today. You pull yourself up, but you overestimate the ability of your legs, and you stumble, conveniently, right into his arms. You crash into him less than gracefully, and he falters. He wobbles a bit before stumbling back, and his knees hit the seat of the jet. He falls back into it involuntarily, pulling you on top of him as he goes. 

You land on his lap, arms on either side of his head to brace on the back of the chair, the only thing stopping you from colliding into him entirely. You hesitate for a moment, and so does he, no doubt the both of you in shock from your situation. You know he isn’t interested in you, but you can’t stop your breath from hitching in your throat. He notices it, there’s no way he doesn’t. Not just because he’s a damn profiler, but because you’re literally pressed against him. What you don’t notice in your panic is his does, too. 

Almost instinctively, you bury your face in the crook of his neck, where it meets his shoulders, in embarrassment. You’re hit with a waft of cologne, his cologne, which only sends your thoughts into even more of a frenzy. Memories of your night with him come crashing back, rough hands on soft skin and tender kisses on intimate parts. Your face heats, and you feel warmth somewhere else, too. 

Hesitantly, his hands come around to cup the small of your back, holding you steady, his hands ghosting over the sliver of bare skin where JJ’s shirt has ridden up. You shiver, and fuck if that isn’t the most adorable thing he’s seen in a long time. You bury your face deeper, a whole new round of embarrassment coursing through you. But then your abdomen starts to burn again, and you jump, the pain startling you. This causes your weight to shift suddenly, unintentionally grinding your hips into his crotch, and your thigh brushes against his semi-hard on. He groans, throwing his head back, and the heat in your core intensifies. You lick your lips and smile, brushing over it again, harder this time. He gasps, fingers digging into the top of your ass. You lean down to whisper in his ear. 

“Fucking my boss was a very naughty thing of me to do. But I’ll bet it gave you shower material for weeks, huh? Did you think of my tight pussy and hot mouth? I’ll bet you did. You can act like you’re better than me, Hotchner, but deep down, you and I are the same. This is all the evidence I need.” To emphasize your point, you grind into him one more time. He swallows hard, and you have to refrain from drooling over the way his adam’s apple bobs. But he had made it clear he wasn’t interested, even if you know that was a lie. And you have to give him what he wants, right? So using all the energy you can muster, you push off of his lap and back onto your feet. You don’t spare a second glance at the bulge in his crotch as you stalk off the plane. 

***

You’re sitting at home on your couch, a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Salted Caramel Core in your lap and Titanic on the tv, when rapid knocks take over your door. You had gone straight home after the case, not bothering to say goodbye to the team. The only person you had informed was Rossi that he didn’t have to worry about driving you back into DC since you would be taking an Uber. 

You sigh, hoping maybe if you wait long enough the knocking will stop, but it doesn’t, forcing you to answer the door before your neighbors file a noise complaint. The man in the apartment next to yours was a real asshole. You attempt to look through the peephole before answering, having learned a few things from your time guesting cases, but it’s dark. You grab your boot knife from its spot on the little table by the door. Hotch had taken the blade you had been stabbed with out of your boot on your ride to the hospital. 

You click the door open and are greeted by JJ, Emily, and Penelope’s smiling faces. You immediately set the knife back in its place, opening the door all the way to let them in. Emily comes through the door first, throwing her coat to the ground and kicking her shoes off before flopping on your couch. JJ sighs and comes through next, immediately grabbing Emily’s coat off the floor and hanging it on the hooks by the shoe closet along with her own coat. Penelope comes in last, pulling you into a loose, stab-wound friendly hug. You close the door behind her.

“Were you going to stab us, Y/N?” Emily asks, gesturing to the knife on the table. 

“Only if you deserved it,” you joke, sitting gingerly next to her. JJ snorts.

“She always deserves it.” Emily doesn’t protest, only shrugs before grabbing a spoon from your kitchen and digging into your ice cream. 

“Oh no not Titanic,” Penelope gasps, realizing what you have on the tv. “Y/N, honey, who hurt you?” She seizes the remote and turns it off.

“Hotch,” you say without missing a beat. 

“I thought you took the job?” Emily says casually, licking her spoon. You freeze.

“You… what?” You stammer, eyes flitting around the room.

“With the bureau. That Rossi and Hotch offered you? I thought you took it.” Prenitss then digs her spoon back into the frozen treat, oblivious to the shock painted on your face. 

“I... yeah, I did, but how do you know that? It’s not official until after my psych eval, fitness and IQ tests, and meeting with Strauss. In fact, it’s not even de-classified until I meet with the unit chief and the section head.” 

“Babe, it’s our team you’d be joining. You actually think Hotch would keep that from us?” Penelope asks. 

“Why not?” You exclaim in indignation. “He has before.” 

“Yeah, but this is you,” JJ pipes in for the first time. “You were basically on the team anyway.” 

“Until you left!” Emily exclaims in amusement. Yeah. Until you left. Which… you went off the map. How did they get your address?

“How did you guys get my address?” You ask slowly. 

“Garcia,” Prentiss says without hesitation. Penelope looks horrified before she immediately begins defending herself.

“They talked me into it, for your well being. Prentiss can be very convincing if she feels like it, and then JJ layered on the guilt factor-”

“I don’t care why you did it. I want to know how.” Her entire face lights up, but she also looks at you as if you had asked a very stupid question. 

“First off, I’m the one who cleared you out of the system in the first place. Secondly, I’m a technical analyst. This stuff isn’t exactly hard to find if you look hard enough, especially when the person you’re tracing didn’t even think beyond registering her new apartment under her father’s name rather than her own.” You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “Sorry,” she adds with a smile. 

“Whatever,” you laugh. Then you turn back to Emily. “Yes, off the record, I took the job with the bureau. And it’s your fault.”

“My fault!? How is it my fault!?” She cries, at the same time JJ says “what, do I just not get any credit?” 

“Yes, your fault,” you reply. “Yours too, Jayge. That stunt with the drawing from Jessica is what did me in. And of course who can forget ‘Everyone makes mistakes. Sometimes you have to decide if the pain of failure is worse than the satisfaction of success.’” The look on Emily’s face as the recognition at her own quote dawns on her is priceless. “I guess Rossi was right; it was inevitable. I always was going to come back, at my own pace.” Penelope beams.

“If you decide to run away again, I’m not helping you,” she says, plopping down into your recliner. You fake exasperation. 

“God, Pen, you’re like the worst friend ever.” 

“I know.” You all sit in a comfortable silence for a moment before Penelope speaks up again. “This is like, for real, right? As in, you’re Agent Y/L/N now?” You cluck your tongue.

“Well, no. I’m still a doctor; my degree doesn’t change when my position does.” At her annoyed look, you add on “but I will be as much an agent as Dr. Reid.” 

“Yay!” She squeals, clapping her hands.

“Is that the only reason you guys are here?” You question, raising an eyebrow. “To hear it from me?”

“Well, no,” JJ starts.

“The whole team is going out tonight and we were hoping you would come,” Emily says, getting up to come sit on your lap. She plops down and you sling an arm around her waist. 

“Going out? Like to a club?” 

“Well duh,” Emily says, leaning back against you. “What did you think we were going to be doing? Going to IHOP?” 

“Aren’t you a little… underdressed?” You ask, scanning the room.

“Don’t attack IHOP like that, Em,” JJ says defensively. “Henry loves it there.” She sighs.

“Yeah, we are, dipshit. It’s our first night back from a case, you actually think I want to make myself look hot? That’s so much fucking effort, and I’ll probably have to get all fancy professional when Hotch decides to call us at two in the morning.” JJ nods in agreement.

“You have no idea what you’re about to get yourself into, Y/N.” With Hotch or with the job? 

“‘I’m sure I don’t.” That’s a suitable answer to both questions. 

“So? Are you in or not?” Penelope asks, and you sigh. You really don’t want to haul ass out of your apartment to go get shitfaced the night before your big meeting with Strauss. You still had stitches holding your stomach together, and you didn’t feel like shoving yourself into a sweaty, crowded area where sooner or later someone will bump into them and send you into crippling pain. But…

“The whole team?” You ask. 

“Every single one of us,” JJ nods.

“Even Hotch?” You ask, and JJ smirks.

“Even Hotch.” And just like how he had indirectly gotten you to go to Quantico, he was about to get you to go clubbing.  
***

“What’s it gonna take for you to let a boring guy like me buy a drink for a beautiful girl like you?” The cute man who had been hitting on you all night asks. You were sitting on a bar stool, long forgotten by the rest of the team in favor of dancing. Hotch was lurking in the back of the club, a bottle of beer in his hand, surveying the scene and keeping tabs on his agents. You turn to look at him again.

Maybe it’s just the liquor talking, but on second glance, the mystery guy doesn’t look half bad. Ripped jeans, red flannel draped over a white shirt for a band you had never heard of. He had what looked like the end of a sleeve tattoo on his neck, and a double piercing. His hair was too long to be short but too short to be long, forming cute curls around his ears. Had you been a little more sober, you might’ve profiled him. 

“I’m not sure. Keep sweet talking me like that and maybe you’ll get an answer,” you say with a wink, tipping your head back to take a sip of your vodka on the rocks. You don’t notice Hotch creep closer to the bar, or watch as your lips dart out to collect the last drops of your drink. 

“It seems like now would be the perfect time,” Mystery guy mutters, leaning close and gesturing to your empty class. 

“Mhm,” you mutter, breath tickling his neck. Your eyes flit up, and you make eye contact with Hotch, who is watching the two of you intently, jaw clenched. “Go ahead,” you give him permission, and he immediately flags down the bartender.

“A whisky sour for the lady, on me,” he says, finally sliding into the bar stool next to you. Hotch’s hands ball into tight fists at his sides as the man’s hand finds residence on your thigh. Your first instinct is to swat him away, but when you catch sight of how jealous it was making Hotch, you giggle like a schoolgirl instead. When you’re sure that Hotch won’t look away, you grab the mystery boy’s hand and slide it up your thigh, just under the cute miniskirt you had decided to change into. You weren’t going to be clubbing in JJ’s sleepwear. Mystery boy chuckles. 

“I don’t think I caught your name,” you say slowly, making sure to make a show of taking another sip of your drink. Over the boy’s shoulder, you can see Hotch swallow hard. 

“Nathaniel,” he says, squeezing your thigh. “But you can call me daddy.” Gross. There’s only one man you would ever consider calling daddy, and at the moment, he was watching your every move like a hawk. So even though now you definitely want to turn and run, you have to keep up the act. You have a knack for getting yourself into dumb situations for this man. 

“Okay, daddy,” you reply, exaggerating the mouthing of the word daddy so there is no doubt Hotch sees it. “You gonna show me a good night?” 

“Sweetheart, I’m gonna show you the best night of your life.” You shudder, and not in a sexy way, but in a “this man is a lowkey perv” kind of way. That seems to be the last straw for Hotch. He throws his head back, takes a long swig of his beer, his throat bobbing as he swallows, before he stalks towards you, licking the last of the drink off his lips as he comes. You can feel your heart stop, and a familiar warmth returns to you. 

“Who are you?” Hotch asks, standing behind the boy. 

“Nathaniel,” he says cockily, tracing circles on your thigh under your skirt. “And this is my hot hookup.” Hotch doesn’t react at all, just stares the boy down with his signature glare. 

“Yeah? Well I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner, and this is one of my federal employees. So you better back away before I charge you for the drugs you so clearly possess.” Your breath catches in your throat. Jesus, Hotch is hot. This was totally worth having the other man’s hands all over your bare skin. Mystery boy’s hand retracts at that, coming up in a slightly defensive position.

“How did you-”

“You’re not very good at hiding it, especially not when intoxicated.” Hotch’s voice doesn’t waver, doesn’t change at all, and you gulp. You sit perfectly still, as if moving could shatter the whole moment. “Now I suggest you get up and leave this bar before I have you arrested for possession with the intent to distribute.” When Nathaniel doesn’t move, Hotch slams his empty beer bottle on the bar top. “Now.” 

“Jeez, man, you got some serious fucking baggage,” Nathaniel says to you, backing away. “I don’t want to be associated with this crazy anyway.” Then he disappears into the crowd. Hotch effortlessly slides into his seat.

“You okay?” He asks lowly, and it makes your stomach do flips. You’re tempted to tell him the truth, launch yourself into his lap and kiss him until you forget, but you had undergone this for a reason. So you take a deep breath to steel yourself before replying.

“I’m fine? I was literally flirting with that guy for a reason, Hotch. He was kinda cute.” You can see his brow furrow.

“He was a drug dealer, Y/L/N, if you want to work for the government you can’t be associated with drug addicts.” You raise your eyebrows in shock.

“Wow, okay, there are so many things wrong with that sentence,” you start, taking a sip of your drink and subtly watching him watch your tongue dart out to lick the rim of the glass. “I don’t work for the bureau yet, Hotch, so it’s not a problem. Not all dealers are addicts, just to be clear, by the way. Also, I’m not stupid. I know he had enough crack cocaine stuffed in his pockets to open his own beach. But considering I’m currently unemployed-”

“Between jobs,” Hotch corrects. 

“Right, that. Considering I’m between jobs, I’m in no place to make an arrest. And like I said, I was kind of into him. I don’t need you to step in and save the day.” To emphasize your point, you set your drink down next to Hotch’s abandoned beer bottle. 

“It’s reckless, Y/L/N. I need to know I can trust your ability to make good decisions. You already got yourself stabbed and you’re not even on the team yet.” He sounds so strict, it’s kind of a turn on. You want to just reach out and pull him to you. What you don’t know is he wants you to do that too. 

“I’m tipsy, Hotch, no one makes good decisions while under the influence. I mean, look at you and I.” Shit. Hurt flashes behind his eyes, you can see it. 

“What do you mean?” He asks carefully, formally folding his hands on the bar top.

“I mean- I- we- it- dammit!” You stutter. You can see that he’s amused, at least a little, so that serves a small reassurance. 

“We fucked?” He whispers, leaning towards you.

“Yes! That,” You say, leaning closer to him.

“And you mark that as a bad decision because you were intoxicated?” He starts to pull away, and on an impulse, you reach out and grab one of his hands. He lets you. 

“No! Absolutely not. It’s just- on paper- it made everything so complicated, Hotch. I don’t- I can’t- dammit.” You want to punch something, words failing you once again tonight. He seems to know what you mean to say though, because he reaches out and brushes a strand of your hair away. “I miss you,” you whisper, leaning into his touch. You put his hand on your knee, an innocent gesture compared to what you want to do. That touch alone, however, is enough to send sparks flying through you, and you can see his pupils dilate too. 

“I know,” he murmurs. You stare at each other, and this is it, you know this is it, he’s going to do it. But then he pulls his hands away. “Good night, Y/N,” he says, rising out of his seat. You watch in dismay as he exits the club as quietly as he came in, a strange sorrow taking root in your chest. You know you walk a thin line between losing him forever and capturing him as your own. You just wish you knew what steps to take to get on the right side of that line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow,,,, this chapter wasn't as long as i had hoped; i actually had to cut it off here and then i'll make the next part the next chapter. i just really wanted to update before the funeral on saturday because things are about to get even more hectic both in my life and in the story. so keep your eyes out for the next bit, and always, thanks for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos :)


	12. “A Badge and A Gun”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dad’s, Dicks, & Donuts

“Yes, ma’am, thank you,” you say to Strauss. Right as you go to step out of the room and close the door, she calls out to you.

“Oh, and, agent?” She prompts, forcing you to turn. You look up to the ceiling for a moment, trying to suppress your annoyance and find the patience to respond to whatever it is she’s about to drop on you.

“Yes, ma’am?” 

“I’m sure you know that I am not fond of second chances,” she says, folding her hands on top of her desk. Her lips are pursed. “Don’t give me any reason to regret giving you one.” You blow out a sigh of relief.

“Of course, Chief Strauss. Thank you for this opportunity.” She nods once, curtly, before turning back to her paperwork which is your cue to leave. As soon as the door to her office is closed, you pump your fist once in excitement. You were officially a part of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. You decide to grab the entire team a dozen donuts to celebrate, making your way towards the elevators that lead out of the building. The elevators that not a week ago you hadn’t ever wanted to see again, that Rossi dragged you into. The elevators where you had first seen Emily. Not two seconds after the doors slide closed do you get a text message from your dad. 

“How did your meeting with Strauss go?” He asks, a smiley emoji at the end. You immediately text back. 

“It went really well. I got my badge and as soon as I pass my gun certification test I’ll get my glock.” He takes a moment to respond. 

“That’s my girl.” A pause. “Do you need someone to give you lessons?” You laugh to yourself and shake your head as if he could see you.

“Nope, I think I’m good. Kinda grew up learning to use one.” 

“Is Dave administering the test?” 

“No, SSA Hotchner is.” It feels weird referring to him as that, but you need to maintain formality in front of your father. He also has a doctorate in psychology and served in the navy, not to mention his best friend is one of the first ever profilers. The slightest indication that you and Hotch had a… thing, even over text, would spell certain doom for you. 

“Hotchner? As in Aaron Hotchner?” You don’t get the chance to answer his message, though, because the elevator doors slide open, revealing the FBI lobby and… a very disgruntled Hotch. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, you suppose. You almost instinctively clutch your bag a little tighter and stand a little straighter as you stride off the elevator. You have a brief debate with yourself over whether or not to greet him after last night’s incident, but he beats you to it. 

“Agent Y/L/N, congratulations,” he says, approaching you with a nod in your direction. 

“Thank you, Hotch,” you reply, and he holds your gaze a second too long, making you shift nervously on your feet. 

“Where are you going?” He asks, scanning you up and down, and while you’d like to say it’s because he’s trying to profile you, you know it’s actually because of the cute clothing you had worn today. 

“I figured I could get the whole team Dunkin to celebrate.” He doesn’t frown, not quite, but you can tell he wants to.

“Don’t you want to get your gun test out of the way?” Oh. He wants to spend time with you? After he walked out last night?

“Um,” once again, you find yourself fumbling with your words. You blame his intoxicating presence. “Well, if now isn’t a bad time-”

“It’s never a bad time when you’re involved.” He holds your gaze, and your face flushes. Is he seriously flirting with you again?

“Then I guess we can get it over with now,” you say with a shrug. He nods before walking in the direction of the gun range, and you hang back for a moment, taking the time to steel your nerves. It was just a firing range, right? 

Wrong. The first thing you notice when you enter the dimly lit room is the lack of other people. You and Hotch are alone. You fight hard to disguise how uncomfortable, and, frankly, how hot this situation is, but you never could hide anything from a profiler. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks you, genuine concern in his voice and vaguely etched across his features. You speak before your brain can process what your mouth is saying. 

“I haven’t done this in a while and I guess I’m a little nervous.” He chuckles, and your heart flutters. 

“You had no problem shooting that unsub a few days ago.” Shit. Busted. You let out a nervous laugh.

“That was… different?” 

“How was it different?” He asks, raising an eyebrow, and you can literally feel the tension in the room increase. 

“Because…” You let your voice trail off, hoping maybe he’ll let it drop. You have no such luck. 

“Because?” He says, failing at suppressing the amusement in his voice. You flush more. You look at the ground and nudge it with your toe sheepishly. 

“Because you’re here.” 

“What?” He asks playfully. “I couldn’t hear you.” 

“I want to hit you,” you mumble, not even being able to look up at him. What a very nice floor the FBI has. Very well kept. 

“No, I’m actually your boss now. You’re my subordinate; you can’t hit me. In fact, you can’t even defy my orders.” Your face heats as you think of another place you’d like Hotch to give you orders. Maybe with his gorgeous red tie shoved in your mouth, or better yet wrapped around your wrists. You subconsciously lick your lips, which is a dead give away to Hotch of exactly what you’re thinking. He gives himself a moment to indulge in your vision, and what a pretty picture it makes. But then your phone buzzes, snapping both of you out of it. “And with that power… I order you to tell me what’s different about this time.” You groan.

“I just told you.” 

“I know. But I want to hear you say it again.” 

“You bastard!” you cry, finally meeting his eye. His gaze is heated. “The difference is that you’re here. There. I said it. Isn’t that what you wanted?” His eyes darken, and it makes you shiver. 

“Yes,” he breathes, taking a step closer. “What about my presence makes you nervous, hm?” He asks, standing only inches away. If you shifted forward ever so slightly, your chest could brush against him. You stand, transfixed. “Is it because you’re nervous?” He softly twirls a piece of your hair around his finger. “Is it because you’re attracted to me?” He whispers, leaning so close your noses almost bump. This is payback for yesterday on the jet, you know it is, but that knowledge doesn’t stop it from affecting you anyway. Your thighs clench every so slightly with arousal. “Because that would be very unprofessional.” He gives your hair a gentle tug, and your knees buckle. You hate how he has complete control over you; you hate that he can even make that dreaded phrase sound so, so hot. 

“Fuck you,” you exhale, breath caught in your throat. 

“You already did,” he murmurs, and then he drops the strand of hair and straightens himself out. You let out a desperate little whimper before breaking eye contact and breaking the trance. “Now, for your gun test,” he begins, but you completely zone out, trying to process what the fuck just happened. You want to jump his bones, and there’s very little stopping you from doing so right here. But he’s never admitted to liking you, and his behavior is too convoluted to make a decision. So for now, you have to let it go. That doesn’t mean you can’t get even, however. 

“Yeah, whatever, Hotchner,” you say in the brattiest voice posible. “Let’s just get this over with.” You approach the marked tape, swaying your hips as you go, and you can hear him sigh behind you. 

“Okay, so hold the gun in front of you,” he says, coming up behind you, and you smirk. You hold the gun in the worst way possible, bending your elbows and hunching your shoulders. You know he knows that you’re being a brat on purpose, but as the instructor, he has no choice but to stand behind you and correct your posture. He is very careful to not touch you as he reaches his arms over your shoulders and adjusts your grip. “Like this,” he says, not letting go. “Then pull your feet shoulder width apart, your leading foot in front of your other one.” You cross your legs, and he growls, literally growls, before sliding his foot between yours to force them apart. He still refrains from pushing against you, though, which is what you need to happen. Your father always taught you that if you wanted something done, you had to do it yourself, so you pretend to be adjusting your weight and wiggle back just enough so that your ass is lightly pressing against his groin. You hear his breath catch in his throat. Y/N 1, Hotch 0. “Then aim at your target, carefully,” he says slowly, moving your arms and gun so that they align with the dummy. “And shoot.” He lets go of your arms, but his leg is still slotted between yours, your ass still pressed against his crotch. You pull the trigger once, twice, three times, nailing the dummy right in the chest as you do so. “Impressive,” he says, but he doesn’t move. 

“Thanks,” you say, acting as if you are turning to face him as you take a tiny step back. This forces yourself higher up his leg, your crotch now vaguely rubbing against his thigh, and your ass perfectly into the crease of his pants. You can feel his semi-hard dick twitch in interest, and it sends a rush of heat directly to your core. His breathing picks up as you squirm just a little more. His eyes are dark with thinly veiled lust, and it leaves you with an amazing sense of satisfaction. Hotch shifts his leg, rubbing the fabric against your panties, your skirt riding up, and you gasp at the friction. 

Somewhere in your dazed state, you realize you two are basically getting each other off. This was the closest the teasing had gotten to what you wanted. Ignoring the little warning flag going off in your head, you grind into his leg. You moan quietly, and you can feel his bulge grow. You drop the gun to the ground with a clatter in favor of spinning yourself around and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. Then you basically climb up his leg until your skirt is around your hips and your hips are pressed into his. He rests his chin on your shoulder. You thrust forward ever so slightly, feeling the outline of his cock pressing through his trousers. He groans into your ear, wet and hot. You moan, and grind again, loving the stimulation on your clit. You were soaking through your panties, and you realize there was now a small wet stain on Hotch’s pants. Whether it was from him or you, you can’t tell, because you reach down to palm him and he throws his head back. His hand slides back to its position from yesterday, on the small of your back, to hold you up while you practically sit on his outstretched leg, and his other hand gropes your chest, your nipples hardening. You stay like this for a moment, just enjoying the other’s presence, before your phone buzzes again.

Just like that, the spell is broken for the second time that day. Hotch pulls his hands away, and you crawl off of his lap, running a hand through your hair to fix the mess it had become while he tugs on his pants to try to fix the rumples. Your skirt tumbles less-than-gracefully off of your hips, and you stare at the floor in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice rough, and you nod, blinking fast to clear the tears in your eyes. You gasp for air.

“It’s okay. I- I started it.” Like always. God, were you always such a slut? Always fucking things up? You’re lucky he opted to bend down and hand you the gun so you can pass your test, and not fire you on the spot. 

“It was both of us,” he admits, offering you the gun as a sort of peace treaty. You inhale sharply, tipping your head back to get rid of the last of the tears, before you take it from him. He doesn’t say anything about how it has to stop, though, and you take that small victory. “Let’s get you your gun so you can be all set for our next case.” He’s immediately returned to the professional, stone cold Hotch, and it makes your heart hurt. You nod, drawing yourself into position and perfectly shooting each of the targets. When the exam is over, he hands you your own glock 19 from the gun safe before swiftly exiting the room. You return to the bullpen, no longer in the mood for donuts.  
When you push open the glass doors, the whole team is waiting for you in party hats, and a “congratulations” balloon is tied to the back of a chair that you can only assume is yours. There’s an open box of donuts on Emily’s desk, a singular donut missing, which you later locate in Morgan’s hands. Guess it was a good thing you never made it to Dunkin.

“Congratulations!” They scream when they see you, and a few other agents in the area turn their heads at the commotion. Garcia charges at you, a party hat in one hand a “it’s your special day!” pin in the other. She immediately puts them on you, and you force a smile.

“What’s all this?” You ask, walking towards the bullpen, making eye contact with JJ.

“Well, you’ve unofficially been with us for so long, we figure it being official deserved a little celebration. So congrats, Agent Y/L/N,” she teases, and you like the way being addressed that way sounds. 

“Still a doctor,” you say with a finger waggle, and she rolls her eyes good naturedly. Spencer comes up to you, offering you an awkward side-armed hug that is promptly overshadowed by Derek’s bear hug. He slaps you on the back as he does. 

“Good to have you for good this time,” he mutters before pulling back, allowing Emily to run straight at you. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this!” She squeals. 

“I told you it was never going to happen,” you retort. 

“You’re a bad liar,” she says, staring you straight in the eyes, and you both break into laughter. Your mood has been significantly lifted, and you think maybe, just maybe, this could truly be the start to something good, a continuation of a story you started. JJ half jogs, half walks up to the two of you, pulling you both into a hug and squeezing. 

“Finally, there’s an even number of boys and girls,” Emily says, warranting another bout of laughter. Rossi watches the scene from the donuts, and when JJ and Prentiss walk over to get one, he approaches.

“Good job, kiddo,” he says, slapping you on the back. “I always knew you would end up here. You had too much of a fascination with my badge.” You sigh. 

“Really, Rossi?” He chuckles. 

“Si, mio amore. We should go visit your father with a good bottle of wine to celebrate.” 

“I have wine at home.”

“Not that atrocity you call wine,” he says with a pointed look. “Real wine. And last I checked you do not have your father at home.” 

“Well, I’m full of surprises,” you joke, flashing him your brand new FBI badge.

“Maybe to others. But I saw this coming from a mile away.” You scoff. 

“I haven’t been home in a while. Next time you have time off we can go visit,” you say thoughtfully. 

“Next time I have time off? We’re in the same unit, we get the same time off.”

“Oh, right,” you say, and he laughs again.

“I’m going to have a donut before Hotch calls wheels up, because that too is inevitable and foreseeable from a mile away.” Your stomach drops at the sound of Hotch’s name, and you force a stiff nod.

“That sounds like a good idea.” If Rossi notices your change in behavior, he doesn’t comment on it. And when Rossi is right about Hotch calling wheels up, again he doesn’t comment on it. In fact, Rossi has been suspiciously quiet. When Hotch announces where your next case is, you realize why. 

“Edenton, North Carolina.” You freeze in your place, jaw dropping.

“Edenton. Really? You’re joking.” The whole team turns to look at you, and your eyebrows only climb higher and higher up your forehead. 

“What’s wrong, Y/N? Have you visited there?” Emily asks from the other side of the roundtable. You nod.

“I’ve been more than just a visitor there,” you say, and this gets Hotch’s attention. 

“She lived there,” Rossi says plainly. 

“Thanks, David. Always one to beat me to the punch.” He shrugs, barely suppressing a smirk, and you can see a glint in Hotch’s eyes.

“So we’re going to your home town?” Morgan asks, and you nod again.

“I guess.”

“We’ll be having that bottle of wine with your dad sooner than we thought, Y/L/N,” Rossi says. 

“Anything I need to be aware of before we go, Y/L/N?” Hotch asks, and even though it’s playful, you feel a swoop of dread in your stomach. There were some things from the past best left in the past. Although maybe that rock in your belly was actually because he called you your last name instead of your first. You shake your head and drop your gaze.

“You sure?” Morgan asks, crouching to make eye contact with your downturned stare. “We won’t judge you, momma.” You shake your head again.

“Nah, I’m all good, but thank you. Just a little unnerved that something could happen there.” Understatement of the year. You knew damn well that shit has gone down before. Emily nods.

“Totally understandable.” JJ smiles at you from her place at the front of the room. “I can brief you guys on the rest while we’re on the jet.” The team nods and begins to disperse, likely grabbing their personal belongings and cancelling any dinner plans. You hang back, your go bag already living in the conference room since you didn’t even have a desk yet. Hotch does too.

“First case and it’s your hometown,” he says with a bitter chuckle. “I do not envy you.”

“Technically I got stabbed on my first case.” He stares at you.

“That doesn’t count. If we’re counting volunteer cases, then your first was Arizona.” You smile fondly, recalling Hotch in a short sleeved shirt, forearms bulging and rippling, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. Then later in the interrogation room, him losing his cool and slamming his fists on the table. You had felt that all the way through your body, and even now you feel kind of warm just remembering it. A blush dusts your cheeks. 

“Are we going to pretend that didn’t just happen?” You whisper, taking a step closer. He shivers and glances down at you. 

“I had thought we already did,” he mutters, arms reaching out and rubbing your forearms. You nod, once again fighting off tears. So it really was just a heat of the moment thing for him. You had to stop attaching feelings to this. He clearly didn’t want you. 

“Okay then,” you say, stepping back, his arms falling to his sides. 

“We should get ready to go,” he announces, grabbing his copy of the casework off the table and heading for the door. “I’ll see you on the jet in a bit.” Then he’s gone, and somehow you feel even worse in his absence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> congratulations ladies and gentlemen, we’re getting there! sorry about any spelling/grammar mistakes; i didn’t really edit in my rush to get this out


	13. "There's No Place Like Home"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blunders, Boss's, and Beaches

When you board the jet, you don’t sit next to Hotch. You don’t even sit across from him. And while you know he didn’t mean it to upset you, he had just said what he thought you wanted to hear, it still stung. When you sit across from Reid, you opt to smile and nod at the doctor rather than acknowledge the concerned looks you are receiving from your boss, your ex lover, your more-than-a-crush. 

JJ talks from the couch where she is leaning against Prentiss, case files splayed on their laps. You know you should be paying attention to what she is saying, for all you know you know these victims, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to focus. Everything is going in one ear and out the other. As if that weren’t enough, your brain is playing the audio of Hotch softly groaning in your ear, over and over and over again. You’re day is going fan-fucking-tastic. 

“Did you call your dad to let him know we were coming?” Rossi asks, coming up behind you and laying a hand on your shoulder. You almost jump at his touch, finally zoning yourself back into reality. He chuckles, knowing he startled you, even if you didn’t jump out of your seat. 

“Um… no, I didn’t,” you admit, not bothering to look at him. You can feel Hotch’s eyes on you, burning holes in the back of your sweater. “It didn’t really… I had other things on my mind.” Like the way Hotch’s erection felt…or his soft groans in your ear as you claimed what you had wanted as yours for too long. You have to fight hard to stop your cheeks from dusting with a blush and your pupils from dilating. You swear you can hear Hotch let out a chuckle, but then again, you had been inventing things all day. Such as feelings that weren’t really there. 

“Mhm,” Rossi hums knowingly, glancing back at Hotch, who you’re sure by now has averted his gaze. “Maybe shoot him a quick text, and um… try not to hurt yourself.” When Rossi walks away, you have no idea if he meant your father or Hotch. And when he shoots you a wink, you can feel your heart plummet into your stomach. Stupid profilers. 

All too soon, the runway is rushing at the jet, and you hit the ground with a bounce. The only thing you took out of that plane ride was that you weren’t as subtle as you previously thought, and that you were thoroughly and completely fucked. And not in the way you wanted to be. You can hear the rustling of papers and the clicking of overhead bins as the team grabs their things, but you can’t seem to force yourself to move until Reid gently shakes your shoulder.

“Hey, Y/N, can I ride with you? I’m assuming you’re driving since, you know, you know this place better than we do. Morgan is driving the other SUV and we both know how he gets with directions, so uh,” You laugh softly, finally making eye contact.

“Of course you can ride with me Spencer, you don’t have to ask. Us doctors have to stick together,” you say with a wink, and you can feel the jealousy radiating off of Hotch. Spencer laughs too before filing off the plane. You make quick work of following suit, not wanting to be alone on the jet with Hotch again. While it had ended in your favor last time, now you knew all you would be getting is a handful of embarrassment. 

you slide into the SUV, you turn to see who would be riding with you. You laugh again when you see Reid in shotgun, with Rossi, JJ, and Prentiss crammed in the backseats. That must mean Hotch would be riding with Morgan alone. “You guys would seriously rather cram someone into the middle seat than ride with Morgan?”

“Riding with Morgan is a death sentence,” JJ says, shifting in her seat.

“I’d much rather have the middle seat and actually end up at our destination than ride shotgun and end up in the middle of the ocean,” Emily offers with a shrug, and Rossi only smirks at you. 

“Fair enough,” you say, shifting the SUV into drive and pulling off the airstrip. “Okay, so, welcome to Edenton. I figure you guys should know a little bit, and considering it’s only mid-afternoon, I think we’re headed to the local PD first, correct?” JJ nods, and you make eye contact with her in the rearview. Her eyes are alight with mischief, and you can’t help but wonder if her and Rossi have been conversing about your private affairs. “Well, my family first moved here when I was nine years old. We shifted between this place and our house in New York a lot, considering my fathers’ job. I always preferred it here, because it was quieter, and you could go swimming.” Prentiss raises an eyebrow.

“Two houses?” 

“Yeah, two. Three if you count the one in LA that we literally never use.” Her eyebrow crawls higher up her forehead. “Oh, please. My dad is friends with David Rossi. Obviously we have a little bit of money or he never would’ve even spoken to my dad.” Rossi doesn’t protest, only shifts his attention from the window to your conversation with a half-hearted shrug. “They met through some tight rich dude inner circle. I worked my way into the FBI on my own, however. Don’t let my family history deceive you. Similar to Emily, I believe I need to earn my way. I think she and I grew up relatively similarly.” She nods. Even though you and her had been super close before you left, you never really talked about your past before college. Reid speaks up.

“How much money is ‘a little bit’?” 

“That, good sir, is none of your damn business,” you say teasingly. “But it’s enough.” He falls silent again, probably comparing some statistics about families with three houses to income rates. “So the town is actually on the bay, and depending on what hotel the agency booked, you might actually have a private beach.” You can see JJ smile, but Reid frowns.

“On the beach?” You nod. He wrinkles his nose. “No thanks.” You and JJ share a look, but she only shrugs. 

“Okay, well, there’s a nice variety of fast food and also some cutesy diners and restaurants if we have time. I can even show you my old secret drinking spot where my friends and I would sneak out to.” Rossi pulls a disapproving face, but says nothing. As more buildings begin to pop up, you turn right. Emily snorts when she realizes that Morgan is no longer following you, which she loudly points out.

“That is exactly why I rode here,” JJ says, “even if Prentiss is practically sitting on me.” 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She teases, and once again Rossi’s face distorts and crumples. Reid only nods in agreement with Emily. 

“Do you think we have time to sneak off to a beach then?” Prentiss asks, leaning forward eagerly. “Considering bossman is stuck in the loser van?” You shrug, leaving it up to the team. The police station is only a few minutes from the beach, and even though the case had to have been urgent to garner the attention of the BAU, you were running early. 

“I don’t care,” JJ says impartially. “As long as we work later tonight to catch the son of a bitch who dragged us here.” You furrow your brows, making a mental note to read over the case files later since you missed JJ’s debriefing on the jet. 

“I honestly do not have an opinion, as long as one of you takes the fall,” Rossi says casually. That leaves it up to Spencer.

“So Spence? You in?” He shrugs. “That’s not an answer,” you say seriously, staring him down. He smiles at your antics.

“Yeah, I guess I’m in.” 

“Great!” You exclaim, immediately turning into the school’s parking lot to make a U-turn. “Hold on, guys,” you say, before slamming on the gas, speeding out of the lot, and right through the intersection, heading east instead of west. You take a sharp right, turning onto a smaller, less frequented street, before winding through the woods and eventually coming out at the entrance to the small grove you used to hang out at with your friends. Through the trees, you can see the waves gently lapping at the sand. JJ throws her car door open, leaping onto the rocky lot with a crunch. Emily quickly follows suit, straightening her formal skirt and shirt that got wrinkled in the car ride. Rossi and Reid take their time as you pull the keys from ignition. “This way,” you call, trekking through the little deer path that has somehow stayed maintained. They all follow, and you smile softly to yourself when you emerge. 

It looks exactly the same as you remember it, the strip of sand extremely narrow before it collapses into the blue. Way out in the distance, you can see a few of the beach houses, and you know that if you were to run just far enough in that direction, you would stumble upon your own. You take a deep breath of the fresh air, slowly approaching the water like a main character in a movie. If you didn’t have to be at the station in a few minutes, you would slide off your shoes and go wading. The breeze is chilly, and you fight hard not to shiver, but the cold air is to be expected in November. 

Emily comes to stand beside you in your silent reverie, linking her arm with yours, and you smile softly to yourself. JJ joins you on your other side, resting her head on your shoulder, and the three of you stare out at the water and the teeny tiny boats bobbing along the horizon. If it were sunset, you would feel like the main character in your own little movie. When neither of them say anything, you allow yourself to picture it.

The team would be called here for the case, probably right before Christmas. You guys would catch the unsub, and you would decide to stay for the holidays with your dad and maybe your mom, if she managed to get away from work in Iran. You might even resign from the BAU just for the extra dramatics, deciding to stay in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Hotch would have a huge epiphany on the drive to the airstrip, or while boarding the plane, realizing that he loved you and he had to tell you before he left. The team would follow, sticking it to Strauss and explaining the family came first. You and Hotch would spend that night on the beach, drinking hot cocoa under the stars and listening to the waves against the sand. Probably have your first kiss, your first real kiss, maybe even more than that. Then the whole team would celebrate Christmas together before heading back to Virginia. How nice that would be.

JJ’s phone dings, snapping all three of you out of it, and your surroundings come crashing back. You were here. Like actually here. In Edenton. With your coworkers. Which consisted of your two best friends that adored gossip, your hookup that you may or may not be falling in love with, one of your dad’s best friends, a genius who would probably learn everything and anything about you while here, and a notorious tease and flirt, best friends with the genius. Not to mention Garcia might accidentally dig up old dirt on you when skimming through old police reports and hospital visits. This was a fucking disaster, and you were in for quite a ride. You had been made aware of what happened to poor Morgan when the team ended up in his hometown. There was stuff here, that had happened to you, that was on the same scale as that. You only hoped that since this was you, and not him, and the circumstances were different, the team wouldn’t find it. 

JJ pulls her phone out of her pocket and sighs, but she doesn’t bother to step away. She doesn’t even make an effort to text the mystery person back, only slips it back into the pocket where it belongs and wraps her arms around your waist. 

“Who was it?” Emily asks, peering around you to look at her.

“Will,” she concedes with a frown. A flash of understanding sweeps across Emily’s face, leaving you to stand there alone in your confusion. 

“Is it important?” Emily asks, eyebrows knit together and concern etched into her features. 

“Is it ever?” JJ shoots back, not moving. You don’t know what to say, don’t even really understand what’s happening, so you just stand there, allowing JJ to embrace you and pulling Emily closer by your linked arms. 

“So not about Henry?” 

“No,” she huffs. The three of you stand there, you in confusion, Emily in understanding, and JJ in sorrow, not moving, until a crash and a very feminine-sounding shriek comes from behind you. You all spin on your heels, almost like some weird conga since you all were still twisted together, and Emily instinctively reaches for her gun. Spencer comes falling out of the bushes, and you’re the first to process it, bursting into laughter and untangling yourself from the girls to run to help him. The sand flies behind you, and you are reminded of running on the beach as a teen. Spencer sits in the sand, an extremely disgruntled look upon his face. There are various sticks in his hair, and you laugh, pulling one out for him and falling down next to him. 

“What happened?” You ask him, crossing your arms. 

“I just wanted to see what you guys were up to and I couldn’t find the path so I figured I could make my own.”

“That ended real well for you, didn’t it?” He shrugs and looks just past you at JJ and Emily, who are now trudging your way. They also laugh when they realize what happened. Emily plucks a stick and pretends to examine it. 

“I’m not so sure I like your new style, Spencer,” she says, tossing the stick, which lodges itself in JJ’s hair. JJ frowns, swatting at it, and Emily crumples next to you with laughter. 

“Dammit guys, we can’t show up to the police department like this!” JJ says, but she doesn’t actually seem that annoyed. You examine the crazy group; Spencer by far looked the worst. You and Emily just had some sand on you from, you know, sitting in the sand. 

“I don’t think that’s such a problem,” Rossi says, finally bothering to catch up, and Spencer’s jaw drops when he sees him emerge completely unscathed.

“How did you find the path?!” He cries indignantly. Rossi chuckles.

“I’ve been here before.” You all sit in silence until what he said clicks.

“What do you mean you ‘don’t think that’s such a problem?’” You ask, staring up at him.

“I just got a text from Hotch that he actually wants us to meet at the hotel first. Apparently there was a complication with the rooms and he needs JJ to sort it out since she’s the one who made the reservations.” You sigh, realizing this means you all need to haul ass to the hotel. 

“What kind of complications?” Rossi smirks at your clear panic.

“Not enough rooms,” he says nonchalantly. 

“Okay? So we can just double up again.” 

“No, we can’t, unless you mean triple up.” You take a moment. 

“You mean they only booked two rooms?”

“Ding ding ding. Apparently this town is very popular for the upcoming Thanksgiving.” 

“Yeah, well, serial killers don’t stop just because of Thanksgiving weekend,” you say, rising to your feet, the playful mood lost. You don’t even know much about this case, which was definitely going to be a problem. At least now you could hopefully review some of the material at the hotel. 

“So the sooner we solve this the better,” Rossi says, but he looks like he’s withholding information.

“Unless?” You prompt, hoping to get him to reveal his no doubt evil plan.

“Unless we stay at your place.” Your jaw drops, and your hands immediately fly to your head. You spin in a slow circle.

“No. Absolutely not. No.” You can practically feel the amusement radiating off of Rossi.

"Why not, Y/N? It’s actually not a half bad idea,” Emily says, also rising to her feet. Spencer and JJ remain silent, looking slightly uncomfortable with the situation.

“Forgive me for not wanting my FBI coworkers who are experts on behavioral analysis to be staying with me and my father in my childhood home.” JJ finally pipes up, gently grabbing your elbow.

“We wouldn’t… snoop, or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she says softly, and you fight hard not to jerk your arm away. That was exactly what you were worried about. 

“I- no. It’s bad enough you guys are here. I don’t need you staying in my house.” Reid looks at you oddly, and you can just tell he’s profiling your sudden defensiveness.

“Hey, in her defense, I wouldn’t exactly want you guys staying in my old house either,” he says. “Especially not with my parents.” 

“You would if we had no other options,” Rossi says matter-of-factly.

“But do we really have no other options?” You beg, pleading with your eyes. He couldn’t let this happen. He knew damn well what you had to lose. There was more than just Hotch on the line here, although he was a huge part of it. 

“I just got off the phone with Hotch, he said there’s only one other motel with a vacancy and the owner was one of the victims. So no, we have no other options.” 

“What about one of the rental homes?” You’re fighting this hard.

“Those cost hundreds of dollars and can’t be booked on short notice. Unless you want us sleeping on the jet, you’re SOL.” You want to scream, but you don’t. Instead, you take a deep breath of the salty air, straighten your skirt, and look him dead in the eye.

“Fine. But you have to tell Hotch.” You try not to think too much about Hotch meeting your dad, seeing your bedroom. Or him finding out all that you, and Edenton, had to hide. There really is no place like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi all! im bacckk. thank you for your patience and understanding! sorry that the length of this chapter is a little shorter, but good things and plot thickenings are just around the corner. as always, comments and kudos are always loved, and i hope you enjoyed!


	14. "Surface Tension"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rysand, Reports, & Rivalry

When you roll up at the police station, you once again find yourself taking a moment to brace yourself. Emily reaches over and rubs your arm, having wrestled the honorary position of shotgun from Spencer, arguing that since he was so covered in sand he should have to ride in the trunk. No one questioned the legality of it as he sat crossed legged on the floor of the trunk among the various go bags, although he did have quite a few concerning statistics about car crashes. 

“You okay?” She whispers after the rest of the ensemble has shuffled from the car and pulled their bags, and Spencer, from the back. You tighten your grip on the steering wheel really, really, hard before letting go. You turn to look at her and plaster on a fake smile, which she sweetly returns. “It’s okay to not be, you know. I don’t know what happened to you, and frankly I don’t want to unless you want me to, but it doesn’t take a profiler to see you’re not very enthusiastic about this situation.” You sigh, finally grabbing her hand that rests on your bicep.

“I’m seriously okay, Emily, but thank you. It’s just been a while.” She nods, clearly not buying it, but dropping the subject for your sake. You are beyond grateful. The latch of the door clicks as she opens it and hops out. You follow suit, the bright blue neon police badge still hanging in one of the front windows. You take the lead, not saying anything to the rest of the team as you pull open the heavy glass doors and step aside as a blast of cold air assaults the team. Even in late November, the station always loved keeping it cold. They argued that most of the officers would be out on duty and that the cold made prisoners uncomfortable, making them more likely to talk. Which, okay, you had learned in psych 101, but those poor secretaries. 

You walk into the station, bag over your shoulder, and a woman smiles at you from a desk. She’s young, you’d guess early college, and she reminds you a little of yourself at that age. Just from looking at her you can tell that she’s ambitious, that this secretarial job is merely a stepping stone towards the bigger things in her life. Once the entirety of your party is inside, she rises, walking around the desk.

“Hello! I’m Amber, and I’m the receptionist for the Edenton PD. I also intern under our media liaison Joyce, who I believe Ms. Jareau spoke with over the phone.” 

“Agent,” JJ corrects gently with a smile, and the girl’s smile doesn’t falter.

“Of course. Sorry for the offense, agent.” JJ shakes her head as if to reassure her that it’s no big deal, but she’s already moved on.

“I’m going on a limb here and saying that I’m correct in assuming you are the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit?” Rossi nods. 

“Yeah, we are. Where can we set up?” She seems slightly taken aback by his bluntness, but she would get used to it. She doesn’t let him throw her off for more than a second, straightening her posture and gesturing to the back rooms that you were all too familiar with. 

“Deputy Rysand set up one of our conference rooms for y’all.” You smirk at the name.

“Deputy now, huh?” You tease, shifting the bag on your shoulder. Once again she seems surprised but doesn’t let it get to her. She would be going places, if not only for the fact of her age. 

“Yes, Deputy Rysand. I was unaware he went by any other title?” You laugh a bit to yourself, well aware that you now have the entire team’s attention.

“He was an officer when I worked here,” you explain, the remains of a smile still on your face. You don’t hear the door open behind you when I continue. “He was also my boyfriend.” As soon as the words fall from your mouth, you regret them. The mood in the station shifts to something far more tense, and Amber’s eyes move over your shoulder to someone behind you. Probably Hotch. You turn, and lock eyes with his steely gaze, the flicker of some unknown emotion unreadable before he returns his poker face. He brushes past you, and Emily reaches for your hand.

“SSA Hotchner, BAU Unit Chief,” he says, shaking Amber’s hand, and she smiles and shakes back.

“Receptionist Amber Halloway. I was just telling the rest of your team that we set up an old conference room for you guys if you would just follow me.” He breezes past her without a second thought, clearly expecting you guys to follow suit. Emily squeezes your hand, and JJ mouths “talk later?” You nod. By the time the rest of you shuffle into the conference room, Hotch has already laid out his files and begun tacking things to the wheeled chalkboard. Spencer, without missing a beat, drops his bag and follows suit. 

“Judging by the nature of the crimes I can only assume that our unsub is male. There’s no clear sexual component but the extremity of the violence and no defense wounds indicates that they probably were lured to him by choice and then overpowered.” Hotch nods as Spencer speaks, and Emily silently picks up a case file. You crowd next to her, glancing over her shoulder. The pictures are not nearly as gruesome as you expected; batches of women in twos, tied to chairs and left in the abandoned warehouse you know to be on the outskirts of the city. One clean slit on the neck and matching marks on both wrists.

“What do you mean, violent nature of the crimes?” You ask Spencer, seeing no obvious violent altercation wounds. He comes around points. 

“Look at the way their necks hang,” he indicates. You look closer and realize that they are not just lolled at the awkward angle of a dead person, but that of a snapped neck. 

“He broke their necks,” you breathe, and he nods. You look up at him, eyes wide, and he looks right back at you. “Were they snapped post-mortem?” 

“We’re not sure,” Emily says, indicating the coroner’s report. “This report, it’s incomplete. Why?” Spencer shrugs. 

“I mean, there are a list of variables that could influence an incomplete coroner’s report. My best guess is that the neck was snapped too close to death to tell or that they’re waiting on the tox report.” 

“We don’t have the tox report yet?” Morgan pipes up from behind you, and Reid shakes his head.

“No, the old victims had been dead too long to test for quicker-dissipating drugs and the newer ones are only a few days old. We should get the report in a day or two.”

“But this is an ongoing investigation,” Morgan argues. “Can’t they fast-track the process?” Spencer shakes his head. 

“Because of the absence of defensive wounds the local police think that the victims may have been sedated. A few of the barbiturates that they would be looking for in the toxicology screen take days to turn up.” Morgan sighs, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

“So, what? We sit around on our asses and wait for a tox report that may or may not show evidence of sedation?” Hotch finally looks up.

“No, Morgan. We run a geographical profile of the dumpsite, which has clearly been selected by our unsub for a purpose, and run victimology.” He seems mildly irritated when he speaks, which isn’t out of the ordinary. What is strange is the way he stares you down when talking to you, as if the reprimand was meant for you. You almost pipe up, but decide that it isn’t worth causing a scene. 

“I’d like to work on the geographical profile, if that’s okay,” you say instead, and his eyes bore into your soul.

“No.” 

“No!?” You don’t feel like arguing with Hotch again, but at this point he was clearly saying things to spite you.

“No,” he repeats cooly, staring at you in such a way that makes the heat pool between your legs against your will. 

“Agent Hotchner, I lived here. I know where the dumpsite is and I also understand the locations around it. It would be in our best interest to allow me to do my job and examine the dumpsite to run an analysis of what locations he may have been coming from,” you say, the heat from your panties traveling into your tone. “Quite frankly, your spiteful decisions are harming the team as well as the investigation, and I’m sick of it.”

“Are you finished?” He asks, face unchanging. You huff and cross your arms, shifting your weight. “I said no, because I need you to work on victimology. Like you said, you lived here, so these connections will be more apparent to you than the rest of us.” You sigh, wanting to argue, but knowing he raises a good point. “Do you understand?” He says, and you could swear his voice drops an octave.

“Yes,” you say, staring him dead in the eye.

“Yes, what?” He mutters, and you are well aware of the watching eyes of the team.

“Yes, sir.” You whisper, and something flashes in his eyes. Was that… lust? You squeeze your thighs together, just a little, and watch his eyes dart down to catch it before landing back on your lips.

“Good girl,” he whispers, shutting the file he has in his hand. You swallow hard, wishing it was those hands wrapped firmly around you instead. His knuckles flex, and… damn. Rossi clears his throat, raising an eyebrow in Hotch’s direction, and then Hotch is exiting the conference room to speak with Amber. You watch through the glass door as she rests a hand delicately on his arm, and he doesn’t flinch or pull away, even when she tosses her hair over her shoulder and leans in just a little too close. Prentiss shifts, and suddenly you remember that the whole team is there too. You swear that you can see JJ slip a dollar bill into Morgan’s hand. 

“That was… something,” Rossi says, taking Hotch’s place at the chalkboard. You blush and stare at the floor. Morgan chuckles.

“Nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart. Not your fault even the boss can’t keep his eyes off you.” You begin to smile at that, but then you catch eye of Amber flirting with him, and you think you may puke. 

“Yeah, seriously,” JJ says, setting her purse down on one of the fold out chairs. “He’s always making bedroom eyes at you. That skirt doesn’t help anything.” 

“Wow, thank you guys. That definitely didn’t make me feel uncomfortable or anything,” you joke, sitting down at the conference room table. Prentiss chuckles, sliding into the seat next to you.

“Well, maybe if you didn’t make Hotch so uncomfortable…” She lets her voice trail off, allowing you to interpret the implications, and you choke on your own spit. Real smooth. Rossi raises both of his eyebrows.

“As fun as this is, we have a case to manage,” he says, attaching a map he must’ve torn from the tour guide book in the front room to the board. He then grabs a marker and circles the warehouse in red. You all take that as your cues to get to work, and you and Emily go back to reading the case file. Or at least, pretending to read it. As soon as everyone is immersed in their own work, she turns to you and begins to whisper. 

“So, you and Hotch, huh?” You blush and stare harder at the words on the paper. 

“Um...no?” She laughs under her breath.

“No?” You hum and pretend to be reading. “Want to try again?” 

“Not really,” you mumble.

“I’m sorry?”

“Not really,” you say, speaking up and finally raising your gaze to look at her. As soon as you do, you instantly regret it. But when you try to turn away, she grabs under your chin to force you to look at her. You laugh, not from amusement, but because you’re uncomfortable. And it is in that moment that Deputy Rysand walks in. 

He pushes the glass doors to the conference room open, the resistance letting out a little woosh as it pulls back. He’s all coolness and holy shit he was just as hot as you remember; tight blue jeans and his deputy jacket pulled over a white button-up. He’s wearing one of the stupid little sheriff hats, but somehow, he manages to make it look good. He places one hand on the holster on his hip and the other by his side as he quickly sweeps the room with his eyes. Then his gaze lands on yours, and he breaks out into a dazzling grin. 

“So you’re a lesbian now?” He teases, motioning to the hand Prentiss has gripping your face and the general proximity. “Was I that bad in the sheets, that I turned you lesbian?” He fake whispers, and Prentiss’s hand, as well as jaw, drops. You immediately jump out of your seat and run into his arms, and he pulls you tight. You can feel his muscles under his clothing as he squeezes you. 

“Officer Rysand,” you mutter into his shoulder, beaming like an idiot.

“Nuh uh sweetheart, it’s deputy now.” You swat the back of his head playfully. “How are you, Y/L/N?”

“It’s Doctor Y/L/N now,” you say, matching his tone and he pulls you tighter. 

“Well congratulations!” You smile harder before finally letting him go and stepping back, straightening your skirt that had once again become wrinkled. You don’t see the longing look Hotch shoots at you from the other side of the glass, where Amber’s hand rests on his arm flirtatiously. “You wanna introduce me to your friends?” He asks, cocking an eyebrow. You laugh. 

“Hardly. Charlie, this is Emily Prentiss, one of my best friends and not my gay lover, Jennifer Jareau, our former media-liason turned profiler, Derek Morgan, who is essentially the biggest flirt I know, Doctor Spencer Reid, who is quite literally a living breathing encyclopedia, and of course you know David Rossi.” Rysand nods at each of them in turn, and when you get to Rossi, he reaches out to shake his hand.

“Good to see you,” he mutters. 

“You too,” Rossi returns politely. Then Rysand falls back to your side.

“You’ve got a good team,” he says matter-of-factly, and you nod.

“I would have to agree.”

“So who was that man outside flirting with Amber?” All of your excitement turns to stone and drops. Hotch was flirting back?

“That’s our unit chief, Aaron Hotchner, who apparently has an unprofessional streak today.” Nobody questions your snippy remark, but JJ does raise an eyebrow, a silent indication that you guys definitely needed to have a conversation. Rysand nudges you in the hip.

“Someone’s jealous.” 

“What? No.” Charlie looks you right in the eyes. 

“Mhm. You can’t lie to me babe.” And in his look, you can see all that you guys had gone through together. If anything, Charlie Rysand was the perfect example that no matter what happens between two people, you can always come out okay. There’s always salvageable pieces of the broken glass.You wish Hotch would see that too. You guys stare at each other for a moment before Spencer stumbles over to talk to you. 

“Hotch paired us for victimology, and I think I may have something.” Rysand glances between the two of you before turning his attention to you once more. You nod, encouraging him to continue. “All of the women were abducted in batches of three, right?” You nod again. “That indicates a friend group, not a random selection. These women would be far too hard to abduct individually around the same time, and besides, all of these girls went to the same school.”

“So they’re abducting friends?” Spencer nods. 

“Yeah, most likely from a social setting. I need to do more research before I can form a concrete hypothesis and victimology report, but it’s definitely food for thought.” Spencer nods at Charlie before returning to his side of the room. You look at him apologetically. 

“Duty calls. We need to catch up soon though. You down for dinner sometime?” He grins.

“You bet your ass.” You chuckle as you make your way over to Spencer, and he exits the conference room, tipping his hat to a very disgruntled looking Hotch on his way out. As soon as he’s gone, the whole team pounces on you.

“He’s hot!” JJ exclaims, watching his receding figure. 

“Yeah, even I can’t ignore that,” Emily agrees, crossing her legs. 

“Damn momma, he’s your ex?” Morgan asks, stretching an arm across the back of your chair. 

“He’s matured nicely,” is Rossi’s only remark. Spencer says nothing, completely immersed in his report. You glance around the room before answering. 

“Yes, he’s my ex. Yes, he is hot.” That’s all the information you feel like giving. Your history with Charlie was a complicated one, and only a small fragment of what you hoped the team stayed away from while they were here. God only knows the mess you would have on your hands if they dug your past up. The team, satisfied with your answer, all return to their respective projects until Hotch comes in to break them into teams. You don’t miss the crescent shaped fingernail marks on his forearm as he rolls up his sleeves to reveal his gorgeous muscles. 

“Meet back here at six so we can figure out dinner and get to the hotel,” is all he says, ignoring everything else that just happened even though you know he must be aware of at least some of it. Then he and Prentiss disappear from the conference room, Morgan and JJ hot on his heels, leaving you, Reid, and Rossi alone to construct the victimology. You were grateful for the break. If the shit day you have been having was any indication, tonight was going to be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys i am so sorry it took me so long to update! school has been so crazy recently so my schedules for just about everything have been thrown out the window. however, i am very excited for where this is headed and hope to work a little more consistently. i started a tiktok @bau_babe_ so be sure to check that out as well. as always, comments and kudos are appreciated and hope you enjoyed!


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